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THE FOREST PILOT 







38ifc% '• 







“Shoot! Shoot! 


For God’s sake shoot, Larry!” 


— Page 210 




THE FOREST PILOT 


A STORY FOR BOY SCOUTS 


BY 

EDWARD HUNTINGTON 



NEW YORK 

HEARST’S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY CO. 
1916 


Copyright, 1915 , 

By HEARST’S INTERNATIONAL LIBRARY CO., Inc. 
All rights reserved, including the translation into foreign 
languages, including the Scandinavian. 



nrn 2U 1915 

©CI,A418429 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER page 

I The Storm 3 

II The Home on the Rocks . . 23 

III The First Supper .... 41 

IV Lessons in Piloting ... 63 

V The Story of Weewah the 
Hunter 95 

VI Final Preparations . . .125 

VII The Journey Through the 

Forest 145 

VHI The Blizzard 165 

IX The Timber Wolves . . .187 

X The Wounded Moose . . .203 

XI The Return to the Wreck . 231 
XII The Early Morning Visitor . 257 



* 


CHAPTER I 

THE STORM 


I 

























THE FOREST PILOT 


CHAPTER I 

THE STORM 

The November sun that had been red and 
threatening all day, slowly disappeared be- 
hind a cloud bank. (The wind that had held 
steadily to the south for a week, now shifted 
suddenly to the northeast, coming as a furious 
blast.^In a moment, it seemed, the mild In- 
dian Summer breeze was changed to a fierce 
winter gale. 

The little schooner yacht that had been 
riding in the bay not more than a half mile 
from the jagged, rocky shore line, began 
dancing about like a cork. For a swell had 

come driving in from the ocean just as the 
3 


4 


THE FOREST PILOT 


wind changed, and now the two tall masts 
waved back and forth, bending in wide sweeps 
before the gale. Unfortunately for the little 
craft the change of the direction of the wind 
exposed it to the storm’s full fury. 

The captain, a weatherbeaten old Yankee 
who had sailed vessels of his own as well as 
those belonging to other people for forty 
years, was plainly worried. With a glass in 
his hand he scanned the shore line of the bay 
in every direction, occasionally giving a sharp 
order to the four sailors who hurried about 
the deck to carry out his commands. 

The only other persons on the yacht were 
a man and a boy who had been sitting together 
beside the forward mast when the wind 
changed. The man was a tall, straight figure, 
with the erect carriage that sinewy, muscular 
men who are accustomed to hard work retain 
well into old age. His face, with its leathery 
skin, which contrasted sharply with his iron 


THE STORM 


5 

gray beard, was softened by a pair of deep 
blue eyes — the kind of blue eyes that can snap 
with determination on occasion, in contrast 
to their usually kindly expression. 

Obviously this man was past his prime, or, 
better perhaps, was past that period of life 
reckoned in years that civilized man has be- 
come accustomed to speaking of as “ prime.” 
Yet he was old only in years and experience. 
For his step was quick and elastic, and every 
movement showed the alertness of youth. 
Were it not for the gray hairs peeping out 
from under his hat and his grizzled beard, he 
might have passed for a man of forty. Martin 
MacLean was his name, and almost any one 
in the New Brunswick forest region could tell 
you all about him. For Martin was a famous 
hunter and guide, even in a land where almost 
every male inhabitant depends upon those two 
things for his livelihood. 

Needless to say, then, this man was some- 


6 


THE FOREST PILOT 


thing quite out of the ordinary among woods- 
men. When the woods people gossiped among 
themselves about their hunting and trapping 
experiences, old Martin was often the theme 
of many a story. And the story was always one 
of courage or skill. 

But you must remember that in this land, 
deeds of courage and skill were every-day oc- 
currences. So that the man who could earn 
the admiration of his fellow woodsmen must 
possess unusual qualities. Martin had re- 
peatedly demonstrated these qualities. Not by 
any single act at any one time, but by the ac- 
cumulated acts of many years had he earned 
his title of leader in his craft. 

The older woodsmen would tell you of the 
terrible winter when Martin had made a jour- 
ney of fifty miles through the forests to get 
medicines from the only doctor within a hun- 
dred miles for a boy injured by a falling tree. 
They would tell you of the time that a hunt- 


THE STORM 


7 

ing party from the States were lost in the 
woods in a great November blizzard, and 
how Martin, frost-bitten and famished, had 
finally found them and brought them back to 
the settlement. They could tell of his fight 
with a wounded moose that had gored another 
hunter, and would have killed him but for 
the quick work of Martin’s hunting knife. 
Indeed, once the old hunter became the 
theme of their talk, there was no end to the 
tales the woodsmen would tell of his ad- 
ventures. 

The boy who was with him on the yacht was 
obviously from an entirely different walk of 
life. Any woodsman could have told you that 
he had been reared far from the country of 
lakes and forests. He was, indeed, a city 
boy, who except for one winter spent in the 
Adirondacks, had scarcely been beyond the 
suburbs of his native city. In the north coun- 
try he would have passed for a boy of twelve 


s 


THE FOREST PILOT 


years ; but in reality he was just rounding his 
fifteenth birthday. 

He was a medium sized boy for his age, 
with bright red hair, and a rosy complexion. 
He had the appearance of a boy just outgrow- 
ing a “ delicate constitution ” as one of the 
neighbor women had put it, although he had 
every appearance of robustness. Nevertheless 
it was on account of his health that he was now 
on the little schooner yacht rolling in the gale- 
of a bleak Labrador inlet. His neighbor in 
the city, Mr. Ware, the owner of the yacht, 
thinking that a few weeks in the woods and on 
the water would be helpful to him, had made 
him a member of his hunting party into the 
northern wilderness. 

The old guide was obviously apprehensive 
at the fury of the gale that had struck them, 
while the boy, Larry, seemed to regard it as a 
lark designed for their special amusement. 
Noticing the serious expression of Martin’s 


THE STORM 


9 

face, and mistaking its meaning, he could not 
help jibing the old fellow, boy fashion, at his 
solicitude. 

You look as if you thought we were going 
to the bottom sure enough, Martin,” Larry 
laughed. Why, there isn’t any more danger 
on this boat than there is on an ocean liner. 
You’re no seaman, I can see that.” And he 
threw back his bushy head and laughed heart- 
ily at his companion’s serious face. 

Besides,” he added, “ there’s the land only 
half a mile away even if we did spring a leak 
or something. It’s only a step over there, so 
we surely could get ashore.” 

That’s just the trouble,” said a deep 
voice beside him. “ That’s just the trouble. 
And if you knew the first thing about a ship 
or the ocean you would know it.” And the 
captain strode aft, giving orders to his seamen 
as he went. 

^‘What does he mean?” Larry asked of 


JO THE FOREST PILOT 

Martin, clinging to a brass stanchion to keep 
from being thrown into the scuppers as the lit- 
tle boat rolled heavily until the rail dipped the 
water. 

Why, just this,’’ Martin told him. The 
real danger to us now is that we are so near the 
shore. Out in the open sea we could roll and 
tumble about and drift as far as we liked until 
the storm blew over. But here if we drift very 
far we will go smash against those rocks — and 
that would be the end of every one of us.” 

“ Well, if we went ashore why couldn’t we 
just jump and swim right to land a few feet 
away? ” Larry asked, looking serious himself 
now, his blue eyes opening wide. 

Martin’s little laugh was lost in the roar 
of the wind. 

‘‘ That shows how much of a landlubber 
you are, Larry,” he said. “ If you had been 
brought up near the ocean you would know 
that if this boat struck on this shore where all 


THE STORM 


II 


the coast is a lot of jagged rocks, it would be 
smashed into kindling wood. And no man can 
swim in the waves at the shore. They pick a 
man up like a cork; but they smash him down 
on those rocks like the hammer of the old 
Norse Sea god. That is why the sailor prays 
for the open sea.” 

All this time Martin had been clinging to 
the rail with one hand, and trying to scan the 
shore line with his hunting glasses. But the 
blinding spray and the ceaseless rolling and 
pitching made it impossible for him to use 
them. 

“ But Vfci not worrying about what may 
happen to this boat,” he shouted presently, 
putting the glasses in his pocket. Either we 
will come out all right or else we won’t. And 
in any case we will have to grin and take what 
comes. What I’m worried about is Mr. Ware 
and the fellows in the boat with him. If they 
have started out from shore to come aboard be- 


12 


THE FOREST PILOT 


fore this gale hit us they are lost, sure. And 
I am certain they had started, for I caught a 
glimpse of the boat coming out of a cove 
fifteen minutes before the storm broke.” 

For a minute Larry stared at the old man, 
comprehending the seriousness of the situation 
at last. You mean then — ” he asked, clutch- 
ing the brass rail as the boat lurched forward, 
— “You mean that you think they will be 
drowned — really drowned, Martin? ” 

“ That’s it, Larry,” Martin replied, seri- 
ously. “ They haven’t one chance in a thou- 
sand, as I see it. Even if they could reach us 
we couldn’t get them aboard; and if they 
are blown ashore it will end everything. They 
haven’t a chance.” 

As if to emphasize the seriousness of the sit- 
uation the yacht just then dug her nose deep 
into the trough of a great wave, then rose, lift- 
ing her bowsprit high in the air like a rear- 
ing horse tugging at a restraining leash. It 


THE STORM 13 

was a strain that tested every link of the anchor 
chain to its utmost. But for the moment it 
held. 

A few more like that, Larry,” Martin 
shouted above the gale, and that chain will 
snap. The anchor is caught fast in the rocks at 
the bottom.” 

Meanwhile the sailors and the captain 
were working desperately to cut loose the 
other anchor and get it over the side as their 
only chance of keeping the boat off the rocks. 
The gale, the rolling of the vessel, and the 
waves buffeted them about, however, so that 
before they could release the heavy mass of 
iron, the yacht again plunged her nose into the 
waves, then rose on her stern, trembling and 
jerking at the single anchor chain. For a mo- 
ment it held. Then there was a sharp report, 
as a short length of chain flew back, knocking 
two of the sailors overboard, and gouging a 
great chunk of wood from the fore mast. At 


THE FOREST PILOT 


14 

the same time the boat settled back, careening 
far to port with the rail clear under. 

The violence of the shock had thrown Larry 
off his feet, but for a moment he clung to the 
railing with one hand. Then as the boat 
righted herself, quivering and creaking, the 
flood of water coming over the bow tore loose 
his hands, and hurled him blinded and stu- 
pified along the deck. The next thing he knew 
he found himself lying in a heap at the foot 
of the narrow companionway stairs down 
which he had been thrown by the waves. 

He was dazed and bruised by the fall, yet 
above the roar of the storm, he heard faintly 
the howling of the huskie dogs, confined in a 
pen on the forward deck. Then there was the 
awful roar of the waves again, the crash of 
breaking timbers, and again a deluge of water 
poured down the companionway. At the same 
time Larry was struck with some soft, heavy 
pbject, that came hurtling down with the tor- 


THE STORM 


15 


rent of water. Gasping for breath and half 
choked with the water, he managed to cling 
to the steps until the water had rushed out 
through the scuppers as the boat heeled over 
the other way. Then crawling on hands and 
knees he succeeded in reaching the cabin 
door, the latch of which was not over six feet 
away. 

With a desperate plunge he threw it open 
and fell sprawling into the room. At the same 
time two great malamoot dogs, who had been 
washed down the companionway with the pre- 
ceding wave, sprang in after him, whining and 
cowering against him. Even in his fright he 
could not help contrasting the present actions 
of these dogs with their usual behavior. Ordi- 
narily they were quiet, reserved fellows, given 
to minding their own business and imparting 
the general impression that it would be well 
for others to do the same. Now all their 
sturdy independence was gone, and cowering 


i6 THE FOREST PILOT 

and trembling they pressed close to the boy 
for protection, apparently realizing that they 
were battling with an enemy against whom 
they had no defence. 

But the storm gave Larry little time to 
think of anything but his own safety. Even as 
he struggled to rise and push the cabin door 
shut, the boat heeled over and performed that 
office for him with a crash. The next moment 
a torrent of water rushed down the compan- 
ionway, but only a few drops were forced 
through the cracks of the door casing, fitted 
for just such an occasion, so that the cabin re- 
mained practically dry. Over and over again 
at short intervals this crash of descending 
waters shook the cabin and strained at the 
door casing. And all the time the movements 
of the boat kept Larry lying close to the floor, 
clinging to the edge of the lower bunk to 
keep from being thrown violently across the 
cabin. 


THE STORM 


17 

The dogs, unable to find a foothold when 
the cabin floor rose beneath them, were often 
thrown violently about the room, their claws 
scratching futilely along the hard boards as 
they strove to stop the impetus of the fall. 
But the moment the boat righted itself, they 
crawled whimpering back and crouched 
close to the frightened boy. 

Little enough, indeed, was the protection or 
comfort Larry could give the shivering 
brutes. He himself was sobbing with terror, 
and at each plunge and crash of the boat he ex- 
pected to find himself engulfed by the black 
waters. Now and again, above the sound of 
the storm, he heard the crash of splintering 
timbers, with furious blows upon the decks 
and against the sides of the hull. He guessed 
from this that the masts had been broken off 
and were pounding for a moment against the 
hull, held temporarily by the steel shrouds 
until finally torn away by the waves. 


THE FOREST PILOT 


1 8 

Vaguely he wondered what had become of 
Martin, and the Captain, and the two re- 
maining members of the crew. Perhaps they 
had been washed down the after companion- 
way as he had gone down the forward one. 
But far more likely they were now in their 
long resting place at the bottom of the bay. 
There seemed little probability that they had 
been as lucky as he, and he expected to follow 
them at any moment. Yet he shut his teeth 
and clung fast to the side of the bunk. 

It was terribly exhausting work, this cling- 
ing with one’s hands, and at each successive 
plunge he felt his grip weakening. In a very 
few minutes, he knew he should find himself 
hurled about the cabin like a loose piece of 
furniture, and then it would only be a matter 
of minutes until he was flung against some ob- 
ject and crushed. He would not be able to en- 
dure the kind of pounding that the dogs were 
getting. The protection of their thick fur, 


THE STORM 


19 


and the ability to relax and fall limply, saved 
them from serious injury. 

Little by little he felt his fingers slipping 
from the edge of the bunk. He shut his teeth 
hard, and tried to get a firmer grip. ’At that 
moment the boat seemed to be lifted high intb 
into the air, and poised there for a breathless 
second. Then with a shock that bumped 
Larry’s head against the floor, it descended and 
and stopped as if wedged on the rocks at the 
bottom, with a sound like a violent explosion 
right underneath the cabin. 

Larry, stupified by the crash, realized 
vaguely that the boat had struck something 
and was held fast. In his confusion he thought 
she had gone to the bottom, but he was satis- 
fied that he was no longer being pounded 
about the cabin. And presently as his mind 
cleared a little, and he could hear the roar of 
the waves with an occasional trickle of water 
down the companionway, he reached the con- 


20 


THE FOREST PILOT 


elusion that they were not at the bottom of the 
sea. Nor did he care very much one way or 
the other at that time. It was pitch dark in 
the cabin, and as he was utterly worn out, he 
closed his eyes and lay still, a big trembling 
dog nestling against him on either side. And 
presently he and his two companions were 
sleeping the dreamless sleep of the exhausted. 


CHAPTER II 

THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 

% 


21 






CHAPTER II 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 

It seemed only a moment later that Larry 
was roused by a thumping on the planks over 
his head. ^Half awake, and shivering with 
cold, he rubbed his eyes and tried to think 
where he was. Everything about the cabin 
could be seen now, a ray of light streaming in 
through the round port For a little time he 
could not recall how he happened to be lying 
on the cold floor and not in his bunk ; but the 
presence of the two dogs, still lying beside 
him, helped to freshen his memory. 

The thumping on the deck seemed to have 
a familiar sound ; there was somebody walking 
about up there. Some one else must have been 
as lucky as he in escaping the storm. And 

23 


24 


THE FOREST PILOT 


presently he heard some one come clumping 
down the companionway stairs. The dogs, 
who had been listening intently with cocked 
ears to the approaching footsteps, ^sprang 
across the cabin wagging their tails and whin- 
ing, and a moment later old Martin stood in 
the doorway. He greeted the dogs with a 
shout of surprise and welcome, followed by 
another even louder shout when his eyes found 
Larry. For once the reserved old hunter re- 
laxed and showed the depths of his nature. 
He literally picked the astonished boy up in 
his arms and danced about the little room with 
delight. 

Oh, but I am sure glad to see you, boy,’^ 
he said, when he finally let Larry down on his 
feet. I didn’t suppose for a minute that I 
should ever see you or any one else here again 
— not even the dogs. I thought that you and 
everybody else went over the side when the 
first big wave struck us.” 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 25 

“ Why, where are all the rest of them, and 
why is the boat so still?” Larry asked, eag- 
erly. 

The old man’s face grew grave at once at 
the questions. 

Come out on deck and you can see for 
yourself,” he said quietly, and led the way up 
the companionway. 

With his head still ringing, and with aching 
limbs and sore spots all over his body from 
the effects of bumping about the night before, 
Larry crawled up the companionway. He 
could hear the waves roaring all about th^m, 
and yet the boat was as stationary as a house. 
What could it mean? 

When he reached the deck the explanation 
was quickly apparent. The boat was wedged 
hard and fast in a crevice of rock, her deck 
several feet above the water, and just below the 
level of the rocky cliff of the shore. She had 
been picked up bodily by the tremendous 


26 


THE FOREST PILOT 


comber and flung against the cliff, and luckily 
for them, had been jammed into a crevice that 
prevented her slipping back into the ocean 
and sinking. For her bottom and her port 
side were stove in, and she was completely 
wrecked. 

For a few minutes the boy stood gazing in 
mute astonishment. Old Martin also stood 
silently looking about him. Then he offered 
an explanation. 

’Tisn’t anything short of a miracle, I 
should say,” he explained to Larry. “ I have 
heard of some such things happening, but I 
never believed that they did really. You see 
the waves just washed everything overboard — 
captain, crew, masts, everything — except you 
and me, and the two dogs. It washed me just 
as it did you, but I went down the after hatch- 
way by luck, and I hung on down there in the 
companionway until the thing struck. But all 
the time that the waves were washing over us 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 27 

we were being driven along toward this ledge 
of rock full tilt. And when we were .flung 
against this rock we should by good rights, 
have been battered to kindling wood at one 
blow, and then have slipped back into the 
water and sunk. 

“ But right here is the curious part of it 
all. Just as she got to the foot of this cliff, an 
unusually big comber must have caught her, 
raised her up in its arms fifteen or twenty feet 
higher than the usual wave would have done, 
and just chucked her up on the side of this 
bluff out 0’ harm’s way — at least for the time 
being. The sharp edge of the ledge happened to 
be such a shape that it held her in place like 
the barb of a fish-hook. And all that 4Jie 

i 

smaller waves could do was to pound away^at 
the lower side of her, without hurting her 
enough to make her fall to pieces. 

But of course they’ll get her after a while 
— almost any hour for that matter; for this 


28 


THE FOREST PILOT 


storm is a long way from being blown out yet, 
I’m afraid. And so it’s up to us to just get as 
much food and other things unloaded and up 
away from this shore line as fast as we can. 
Most of the stores are forward, and that is 
where she is stove in the least. 

I suppose we’ve got to take off five minutes 
and cram a little cold food into ourselves, so 
that we can work faster and longer. For we 
surely have got to work for our lives to-day. 
If this boat should suddenly take it into her 
head to slide off into the ocean again, as she 
may do at any minute, we’re goners, even if we 
are left on shore, unless we get a winter’s sup- 
ply unloaded and stored on the rocks. For we 
arc a long way from civilization, I can tell 
you.” 

With that Martin rushed Larry to the gal- 
ley, dug out some bread, cold meat, and a can 
of condensed milk. And, grudging every min- 
ute’s delay, they stood among the wreckage of 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 29 

the once beautiful cabin, cramming down their 
cold breakfast as hastily as possible. In the 
excitement Larry forgot his bruises and sore 
spots. 

As soon as they had finished Martin hurried 
the boy to the forward store-room door, burst- 
ing it open with a heavy piece of iron. 

Now pick up anything that you can 
handle,” he instructed, “ run with it up on 
deck, and throw it on to the bank. Fll take 
the heavier things. But work as hard and as 
fast as you can, for our lives depend upon 
it.” 

For the next two hours they worked with 
furious energy rushing back and forth from 
the store-rooms, staggering up the tilted steps 
to the deck, and hurling the boxes across the 
few feet that separated the boat from the ledge. 
Every few minutes Martin would leap across 
the gap, and hastily toss the boxes that had 
been landed further up on the shore, to get 


THE FOREST PILOT 


30 

them out of the way for others that were to fol- 
low. 

The enormous strength and endurance of 
the old hunter were shown by the amount he 
accomplished in those two hours. Boxes and 
kegs, so heavy that Larry could hardly budge 
them, he seized and tossed ashore in tireless 
succession, only pausing once long enough to 
throw off his jacket and outer shirt. For the 
perspiration was running off his face in 
streams, despite the fact that the air was freez- 
ing cold. 

Fortunately most of the parcels were rela- 
tively small, as they had been prepared for the 
prospective inland hunting excursion which 
was to have been made on sledges. Many of 
the important articles were in small cans, and 
Larry rushed these ashore by the armful. He 
was staggering, and gasping for breath at 
times, and once he stumbled and fell half way 
down a stairway from sheer exhaustion. But 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 31 

he had caught Martin’s spirit of eager haste, 
and although the fall had shaken him up. 
considerably, he picked himself up and went 
on as fast as his weary limbs would carry 
him. 

At last Martin paused, wiping his face with 
his coat sleeve. Sit down and rest,” he said 
to the boy. “ We’ve got a whole winter’s 
supply on shore there now, if food alone was 
all we needed. So we can take a little more 
time about the rest of the things; and while 
you rest I’ll rig up some tackle for getting 
what we can of the heavier things ashore. 
You’ve done pretty well, for a city boy,” he 
added. 

Then he went below, and Larry heard the 
sounds of blows and cracking timber. Pres- 
ently Martin apeared, dragging some heavy 
planks after him. With these he quickly laid 
a bridge from the deck to the shore. Then he 
hunted out some long ropes and pulleys, and. 


THE FOREST PILOT 


32 

carrying them to a tree far up on the bank, he 
rigged a block and tackle between this anchor- 
age and the yacht. 

Now we’re ready for the heavy things,” 
he said. 

With this new contrivance nothing seemed 
too big to handle. Martin and Larry would 
roll and push the heavy cases into a com- 
panionway, or near a hatch, and then both 
would seize the rope, and hand over hand 
would work the heavy object up to the deck 
across the bridge, and finally far out on shore. 
In this way the greater part of everything 
movable had been transferred from the boat 
by the middle of the afternoon ; but not until 
the last of the more precious articles had been 
disposed of did Martin think of food, al- 
though they had breakfasted at daylight. 

In the excitement Larry, too, had forgotten 
his hunger; but now a gnawing sensation re- 
minded him that he was famished. Martin 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 33 

was as hungry as a wolf in winter ” he ad- 
mitted. But he did not stop to eat. Calling 
the dogs and filling his pockets with biscuit to 
munch as he walked, he started out along the 
rocky shore of the inlet, to see if by any chance 
some survivor had washed ashore. Mean- 
while Larry built a big fire at the edge of the 
woods to act as a signal, and to keep himself 
warm. 

In two hours the old man returned from his 
fruitless search. He had found some wreck- 
age strewn among the rocks, but no sign of a 
living thing. And now we must get these 
things under cover,” he said, indicating the 
pile of stores. 

For this purpose he selected a knoll some 
little distance from the shore above where 
any waves could possibly reach. Over this 
he laid a floor of planks, and spread a huge 
canvas over the boards. Then they began the 
task of piling all the landed goods on top of 


THE FOREST PILOT 


34 

this, laying them up neatly so as to occupy 
as little space as possible, and over this great 
mound of food-boxes, gun-cases, canned 
goods, and miscellaneous objects, they pulled 
a huge canvas deck covering. 

By the time they had finished the daylight 
was beginning to wane. Taking the hint 
from the approaching darkness, Martin dug 
into the mass of packages and produced a 
small silk tent, which he set up under one of 
the scrub trees which was sheltered by a big 
rock well back from the shore. 

“Take that axe,” he told Larry, pointing 
to a carefully forged hunting axe that had 
been landed with the other things,” and col- 
lect all the wood you can before dark.” 

Larry, scarcely able to stand, looked wist- 
fully at the yacht. “ The cabin is dry in 
there,” he suggested, “ why don’t we sleep in 
there to-night? ” 

Old Martin shook his head. “ I don’t dare 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 35 

risk it,” he said. I am tired, and I’d sleep 
too soundly. I don’t think I’d wake up, no 
matter what happened. And something may 
happen to-night. The storm is still brewing, 
and the waves are still so high that they pound 
the old hull all the time. A little more 
hammering and she may go to pieces. We 
couldn’t tell from the noise whether the storm 
was coming up or not, because there is so much 
pounding all the time anyway. And wouldn’t 
it be a fine thing for us to find ourselves 
dropped into the ocean after we have just fin- 
ished getting ourselves and our things safely 
ashore? (^No, you get the wood and I’ll give 
you a sample of the out-door suppers that we 
are likely to have together every night for the 
next few months.” 

Larry picked up the axe and dragged his 
weary feet off to the thicker line of trees a 
short distance away. There was really little 
use for the axe, as the woods were filled with 


36 THE FOREST PILOT 

fallen trunks and branches that could be gath- 
ered for the picking up. So he spared himself 
the exertion of chopping and began dragging 
branches and small logs to the ten^ 

He found that the old hunter, while he was 
collecting the wood, had unearthed a cooking 
outfit, and had pots, pans, and kettles strewn 
about ready for use. Best of all he had hunted 
out two fur sleeping bags, and had placed a 
pile of blankets in the little tent, which looked 
very inviting to the weary boy. 

Martin saw his wistful look and chuckled. 

Too tired to eat I suppose?” he inquired. 

“Well, pretty near it,” Larry confessed. 
“ I was never half so tired in my whole 
life.” 

“ All right,” said Martin; “ you’ve worked 
like a real man to-day. So you just crawl into 
those blankets and have a little snooze while 
I and the doggies get the supper. I’ll call you 
when the things are ready.” 


THE HOME ON THE ROCKS 37 

“ Don’t you ever get tired, ever, Martin? ” 
Larry asked as he flung himself down. But if 
Martin answered his question he did not hear 
it. He was asleep the moment he touched the 
blankets. 



CHAPTER III 

THE FIRST SUPPER 


39 




CHAPTER III 

THE FIRST SUPPER 

The next thing Larry knew he was being 
roused by old Martin’s vigorous shakes. 
Something cold was pressing against his cheek, 
— the black muzzle of one of the malamoots. 
Martin and the big dog were standing over 
him, the man laughing and the dog wagging 
his bushy tail. It seemed to the boy that he 
had scarcely closed his eyes, but when he had 
rubbed them open he knew that he must have 
been asleep some little time, for many things 
seemed changed. 

It was night now, and the stars were out. 
But inside the tent it was warm and cozy, for 
before the open flap a cheerful fire was burn- 
ing. The odor of coffee reached his nostrils 
and he could hear the bacon frying over the 

41 


THE FOREST PILOT 


42 

fire, and these things reminded him that he was 
hungry again. 

“ Sit right up to the table and begin,” Mar- 
tin said to him, pointing to a row of cooking 
utensils and two tin plates on the ground in 
front of the tent. “ Every one for himself, 
and Old Nick take the hindmost.” 

No second invitation was necessary. In a 
moment he was bending over a plate heaped 
with bacon and potatoes, while the big mala- 
moots sat watching him wistfully keeping an 
expectant eye on Martin as he poured the 
coffee. Such potatoes, such bacon, and such 
coffee the boy had never tasted. Even the 
soggy bread which Martin had improved by 
frying in some bacon fat, seemed delicious. 
This being shipwrecked was not so bad after 
all. 

Old Martin, seated beside him and busy 
with his heaping plate seemed to read his 
thoughts. 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


43 

“ Not such a bad place, is it? ” he volun- 
teered presently. 

Bad?” the boy echoed. It’s about the 
best place I ever saw. Only perhaps it will 
get lonesome if we have to wait long,” he 
added thoughtfully. 

“ Wait? ” repeated Martin, poising his fork 
in the air. “ Wait for who and for what, do 
you suppose, boy? ” 

Well, aren’t we going to wait for some 
one to come for us? ” the boy inquired. 

Old Martin emptied his plate, drank his 
third cup of coffee, and threw a couple of 
sticks on the fire before answering. 

“ If we waited for some one to come for us,” 
he said presently and in a very serious tone, 

we’d be waiting here until all these provis- 
ions that we landed to-day are gone. And 
there’s a good full year’s supply for us two up 
there under the canvas. Did you suppose we 
are going to wait here? ” 


44 


THE FOREST PILOT 


The boy looked thoughtful. 

“ But we can’t get the yacht off the rocks, 
and she’d sink if we did. And anyhow you 
couldn’t sail her home. You told me only 
yesterday that you didn’t know a yacht from a 
battleship, Martin.” 

I told you the truth, at that,” Martin 
chuckled. “ But I’m something of a navigator 
all the same. I can navigate a craft as well as 
poor old Captain Roberts himself, only I use 
a different craft, and I navigate her on land. 
And, what’s more to the point, I’ve got the 
land to do it on, the craft, and the crew.” And 
Martin pointed successively at the pile of sup- 
plies in the distance, the two dogs, and Larry. 

“ I don’t understand at all what you mean,” 
the boy declared ; “ tell me what you intend to 
do, Martin, won’t you? ” 

Why, boy, if I started in to tell you now 
you’d be asleep before I could get well into the 
story,” said the old hunter. 


THE FOREST SUPPER 


45 

No, I wouldn’t,” the boy protested. “ I 
never was more wide awake in my life. I feel 
as if I could do another day’s work right now.” 

“ That’s the meat and potatoes and coffee,” 
old Martin commented. It’s marvellous 
what fuel will do for a tired engine. Well, if 
you can keep awake long enough I’ll tell you 
just what we are going to do in the next few 
weeks — or months, maybe. 

Here we are stranded away up on the 
Labrador coast, at least two or three hundred 
miles from the nearest settlement, perhaps 
even farther than that. And the worst of it is 
that I haven’t the least idea where that nearest 
settlement is. It may be on the coast, some- 
what nearer than I think; and then again it 
may be ’cross country inland still farther away 
than I judge. What we’ve got to do is to make 
up our minds where we think that settlement 
is, and find it. And we’ve got to go to it by 
land and on foot.” 


THE FOREST PILOT 


46 

“On foot!” Larry cried in amazement. 
“ Three or four hundred miles on foot in the 
winter time in a strange country where nobody 
lives 1 ” 

“ That’s the correct answer,” the hunter re- 
plied: “ and we’re two of the luckiest dogs in 
the world to have the chance to do it in the 
style we can. If we hadn’t been given the 
chance to save all that plunder from the ship 
to-day we would be far better off to be in the 
bottom of the ocean with Mr. Ware and the 
other poor fellows. But we had the luck, and 
now we have a good even fighting chance to get 
back home. But it means work — work 
and hardships, such as you never dreamed of, 
boy. 'And yet we’ll do it, or I’ll hand in my 
commission as a land pilot. 

“ Did you notice those cans of stuff that you 
were throwing ashore to-day — did you notice 
anything peculiar about those cans? ” Martin 
asked, a moment later, 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


47 

“ E-er, no I didn’t,” Larry hesitated. Un- 
less it was that some of the bigger ones seemed 
lighter than tin cans of stuff usually do.” 

“ That’s the correct answer again,” the old 
man nodded ; that’s the whole thing. They 
were lighter, for the very good reason that 
they are not made of tin. They are aluminum 
cans. They cost like the very sin, those cans 
do, many times more than tin, you know. But 
Mr. Ware didn’t have to think about such a 
small thing as cost, and when he planned this 
hunting trip, where every ounce that we would 
have to haul by hand or with the dogs had to 
be considered, he made everything just the 
lightest and best that money could get it made. 
If there was a way of getting anything better, 
or more condensed, whether it was food or 
outfit, he did it. And you and I will probably 
owe our lives to this hobby of his, poor man. 

Among that stuff that we unloaded to-day 
there are special condensed foods, guns, tents. 


48 THE FOREST PILOT 

and outfits, just made to take such a forced 
tramping trip through the wilderness as we 
are to take. You see Mr. Ware planned to go 
on a long hunt back into the interior of this 
land, a thing that has never been done at this 
time of year to my knowledge. And as no one 
knows just what the conditions are there, he 
had his outfit made so that he could travel for 
weeks, and carry everything that he needed 
along with him. 

“ So it’s up to us to take the things that Mr. 
Ware had made, and which we are lucky 
enough to have saved, and get back to the 
land where people live. In my day I have 
undertaken just as dangerous, and probably 
difficult things in the heart of winter; only 
on those trips I didn’t have any such complete 
equipment as we have here. 

‘‘Why, look at that sleeping bag, for ex- 
ample,” the old man exclaimed, pointing to 
one of the bags lying in the tent. “ My sleep- 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


49 

ing outfit, when I hiked from upper Quebec 
clear to the shore of old Hudson’s Bay in the 
winter, consisted of a blanket. Whenever my 
fire got low at night I nearly froze. But mind 
you, I could lie out of doors in one of these 
fur bags without a fire on the coldest night, 
and be warm as a gopher. They are made of 
reindeer skin, fur inside, and are lined with 
the skin of reindeer fawn. So there are two 
layers of the warmest skin and fur known, be- 
tween the man inside and the cold outside. 
Those bags will be a blessing to us every min- 
ute. For when we strike out across this coun- 
try we don’t know what kind of a land we may 
get into. We may find timber region all the 
way, and if we do there will be no danger of 
our freezing. But it’s more than likely that 
we shall strike barren country part of the time 
where there will be no fire-wood ; and then we 
will appreciate these fur bags. For I don’t 
care how cold it gets or how hard it blows, we 


THE FOREST PILOT 


50 

can burrow down into the snow and crawl into 
the bags, and always be sure of a warm place 
to sleep. 

Then again, the very luckiest thing for us 
was the saving of those two dogs,” Martin con- 
tinued. “ If they had gone overboard with the 
other twelve I should be feeling a good deal 
sadder to-night than I am. For there is noth- 
ing to equal a malamoot dog for hauling loads 
through this country in winter. Look at this 
fellow,” he said indicating one of the big 
shaggy dogs curled up a few feet from the 
tent, caring nothing for the biting cold. 

There doesn’t seem to be anything very re- 
markable about him, does there? And yet 
that fellow can haul a heavier load on a sled, 
and haul it farther every day, than I can. And 
his weight is less than half what mine is. 

“ The dogs that Mr. Ware had selected were 
all veteran sledge dogs, and picked because 
they had proved their metal. So we’ll give 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


51^ 

this fellow a load of two hundred and fifty 
pounds to haul. And he could do better than 
that I know if he had to.” 

The wind, which had died down a little at 
dusk, had gradually risen and was now blow- 
ing hard again, and fine flakes of snow and 
sleet hissed into the camp-fire. The rock 
which sheltered the tent protected it from the 
main force of the blast, but Larry could hear it 
lashing its way through the spruce trees with 
an ominous roar. Martin rose and examined 
the fastenings of the tent, tightened a rope 
here and there, and then returned to his seat 
on the blankets. 

We can’t start to-morrow if it storms like 
this,” Larry suggested presently. 

“ Well, we can’t start to-morrow anyhow,” 
the old trapper answered. And we surely 
can’t start until there is more snow. How are 
we going to haul a pair of toboggans over the 
snow if there is no snow to be hauled over, I’d 


THE FOREST PILOT 


52 

like to know? But there is no danger about 
the lack of snow. There’ll be plenty of it by 
the time we are ready to start.” 

“ And when will that be? ” the boy asked. 
In about ten days, I think,” Martin an- 
swered, “ that is, if you have learned to 

shoot a rifle, harness the dogs, pitch a camp, 
set snares, walk on snow-shoes, and carry a 
pretty good-sized pack on your back,” he 
added, looking at Larry out of the corner of 
his eyes. Did you ever shoot a rifle? ” 

Sure I have,” the boy answered proudly; 
and I hit the mark, too — sometimes.” 

“ I suppose you shot a Flobert twenty-two, 
at a mark ten feet away,” Martin commented 
with a little smile. Well, all that helps. 
But on this trip you are not going to hit the 
mark sometimes : it must be every time. And 
the ‘ mark ’ will be something for the camp 
kettle to keep the breath of life in us. I’ve 
been turning over in my mind to-day the 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


53 

question of what kind of a gun you are going 
to tote on this trip. We’ve got all kinds to 
select from up there under the canvas, from 
elephant killers to squirrel poppers, for Mr. 
Ware did love every kind of shooting iron. 
I’ve picked out yours, and to-morrow you 
will begin learning to use it — learning to 
shoot quick and straight — straight, every 
time. For we won’t have one bullet to waste 
after we leave here.” 

Larry fairly hugged himself. Think of 
having a rifle of his very own, a real rifle that 
would kill things, with the probability of hav- 
ing plenty of chances for using it! One of his 
fondest dreams was coming true. The old 
hunter read his happiness in his face, and 
without a word rose and left the tent. When 
he returned he carried in his hand a little 
weapon which, in its leather case, seemed like 
a toy about two feet long. Handing this to 
Larry he said, simply: “ Here’s your gun.” 


54 . 


THE FOREST PILOT 


The boy’s countenance fell. To be raised to 
the height of bliss and expectation, and then 
be handed a pop-gun, was a cruel joke. With- 
out removing the gun from its case he tossed 
it contemptuously into the blankets behind 
him. 

Mr. Ware killed a moose with it last win- 
ter,” the old hunter commented, suspecting 
the cause of the boy’s disappointment. “ And 
it shoots as big a ball, and shoots just as hard 
as the gun I am going to carry,” he added. 
‘‘ You’d better get acquainted with it.” 

There was no doubting the old man’s sincer- 
ity now, and Larry picked up the gun and ex- 
amined it. 

It was a curious little weapon, having two 
barrels placed one above the other, and with 
a stock like a pistol. Attached to the pistol- 
like handle was a skeleton stock made of 
aluminum rods, and so arranged that it folded 
against the under side of the barrels when not 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


in use. The whole thing could be slipped into 
a leather case not unlike the ordinary revolver 
holster, and carried with a strap over the 
shoulder. When folded in this way it was only 
two feet long, and had the appearance of the 
toy gun for which Larry had mistaken it. 

Yet it was anything but a toy. The two bar- 
rels were of different calibre, the upper one 
being the ordinary .22, while the lower one, as 
Martin had stated, was of large calibre and 
chambered for a powerful cartridge. 

The old hunter watched the boy eagerly ex- 
amining the little gun, opening it and squint- 
ing through the barrels, aiming it at imaginary 
objects, and strutting about with it slung from 
his shoulder in the pure joy that a red-blooded 
boy finds in the possession of a fire arm. Then, 
when Larry’s excitement cooled a little, he 
took the gun, and explained its fine points to 
his eager pupil. 

From this time on/’ he began, I want 


THE FOREST PILOT 


56 

you to remember everything I am going to 
tell you just as nearly as you can, not only 
about this gun, but everything else. For 
you’ve got to cram a heap of knowledge into 
your head in the next few days, and I haven’t 
time to say things twice. 

‘^This gun was made specially for Mr. 
Ware after his own design and to fit his own 
idea. He wanted a gun that was as light as 
possible and could be carried easily, and at 
the same time be adapted to all kinds of game, 
big and little. This upper barrel, the smaller 
one you see, shoots a cartridge that will kill 
anything up to the size of a jack rabbit, and is 
as accurate a shooter as any gun can be made. 
Yet the cartridges are so small that a pocket 
full will last a man a whole season. 

Now the best rule in all hunting is to use 
the smallest bullet that will surely kill the 
game you are aiming at, and in every country 
there are always ten chances to kill small 


THE FIRST SUPPER 


57 

things to one chance at the bigger game. Up 
in this region, for example, there will be flocks 
of ptarmigan, the little northern grouse, and 
countless rabbits that we shall need for food, 
but which we couldn’t afford to waste heavy 
ammunition on. And this smaller barrel is 
the one to use in getting them. 

“ If you used the big cartridge when you 
found a flock of these ptarmigans sitting on 
a tree, the; noise of the first shot would prob- 
ably frighten them all away, to say nothing of 
the fact that the big ball would tear the little 
bird all to pieces, and make it worthless for 
food. With the .22 you can pop them over 
one at a time without scaring them, and with- 
out spoiling the meat. 

“ But suppose, when you were out hunting 
for ptarmigan or rabbits you came upon a 
deer, or even a moose. All right, you’ve got 
something for him, too, and right in the same 
gun. All you have to do is to shift the little 


58 THE FOREST PILOT 

catch on the hammer here which connects with 
the firing-pin in the lower barrel, draw a bead, 
and you knock him down dead with the big 
bullet — as Mr. Ware did last fall up in New 
Brunswick. There will be a louder report, 
and a harder kick, but you won’t notice either 
when you see the big fellow roll over and kick 
his legs in the air.” 

The very suggestion of such a possibility was 
too much for the boy’s imagination. “ Do 
you really think that I may kill a deer, or 
a moose, Martin?” he asked eagerly. Do 
you, Martin?” 

Perhaps,” the old man assented, if you 
will remember all I tell you. But first of all 
let’s learn all we can about the thing you are 
going to kill it with. 

‘‘ Mr. Ware and I had many long talks, and 
tried many experiments before he could de- 
cide upon the very best size of cartridge for 
this larger barrel. You see there scores of 


THE FIRST SUPPER 59 

different kinds and sizes to choose from. 
There are cartridges almost as long and about 
the same shape as a lead pencil, with steel 
jacketed bullets that will travel two or three 
miles, and go through six feet thickness of 
wood at short range. It is the fad among 
hunters these days to use that kind. But if a 
man is a real hunter he doesn’t need them. 

“ Mr. Ware was a real hunter. When he 
pulled the trigger he knew just where the bul- 
let was going to land. And when a man is 
that kind of a shot he doesn’t have to use a 
bullet that will shoot through six feet of pine 
wood. So he picked out one of the older style 
of cartridges, one that we call the .38-40, 
which is only half as long as the lead-pencil 
kind. By using a steel jacketed bullet and 
smokeless powder this cartridge is powerful 
enough to kill any kind of game in this region, 
if you strike the right spot. 

‘‘ So don’t get the idea, just because this 


6o 


THE FOREST PILOT 


gun won’t shoot a bullet through an old 
fashioned battle-ship, that it’s a plaything. It 
will penetrate eighteen inches of pine wood, 
and the force of its blow is very nearly that 
of a good big load of hay falling off a sled. 
This little three-pound gun — just a boy’s 
sparrow gun to look at — shoots farther and 
hits harder than the best rifle old Daniel 
Boone ever owned. And yet Boone and his 
friends cleaned out all the Indians and most 
of the big game in several States. So you see 
you’ve got the better of Boone and all the 
great hunters and Indian killers of his day — ■ 
that is, as far as the gun is concerned. To- 
morrow I will begin teaching you how to use 
it as a hunter should ; but now we had better 
turn in, for there are hard days ahead of us.” 

And so Larry crawled into his snug fur- 
lined bag, too excited to wish to sleep, but so 
exhausted by the hard day’s work that his eyes 
would not stay open. 


CHAPTER IV 

LESSONS IN PILOTING 


6l 


V 


CHAPTER ly 
lessons in piloting 


A 


At daylight the next morning old Martin 
roused the boy, reminding him that he was 
to begin learning his trade ” that day. “ And 
there are many things to learn about this land- 
piloting, too,’’ he told him. Meanwhile the 
old hunter took the axe and went into the 
woods for fuel while Larry was putting on 
his shoes and his coat — the only garments he 
had removed on going to bed the night 
before. 

The air was very cold and everything 
frozen hard, and Larry’s teeth were chatter- 
ing before Martin returned and started the 
fire. Now notice how I lay these sticks and 
make this fire,” Martin instructed. I am 
making it to cook our breakfast over, so I’ll 

63 


64 the forest pilot 

build it in a very different way from what I 
should if I only wanted it for heating our 
tent. Learning how to build at least three 
different kinds of fires is a very important part 
of your education.” 

The old man selected two small logs about 
four feet long and seven inches in diameter. 
He laid these side by side on the ground, 
separating them at one end a distance of about 
six inches and at the other end something over 
a foot. In the space between the logs he laid 
small branches and twigs, and lighted them, 
and in a jiffy had a hot fire going. 

Larry noticed that Martin had placed the 
logs so that they lay at right angles to the di- 
rection from which the wind was blowing; 
and now as the heat thawed out the ground, 
the hunter took a sharp pointed stick and dug 
away the earth from under the log almost its 
whole length on the windward side. The 
wind, sucking in under this, created a draught 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 65 

from beneath, which made the fire burn 
fiercely. 

Then Martin placed two frying pans filled 
with slices of ham and soggy, grease-covered 
bread over the fire, the tops of the two logs 
holding the pans rigidly in place. Next he 
took the wide-bottomed coffee pot, filled it 
with water, threw in a handful of coffee, and 
placed the pot at the end where the logs were 
near enough together to hold it firmly. 

Pretty good stove, isn’t it,” he commented, 
when he had finished. 

“ You see that kind of a fire does several 
things that you want it to, and doesn’t do sev- 
eral others that you don’t want. It makes all 
the heat go right up against the bottom of 
the pans where you need it most, and it only 
takes a little wood to get a lot of heat. What 
is more, the sides of the logs keep the heat 
from burning your face and your hands when 
you have to stir things, as a big camp-fire 


66 


THE FOREST PILOT 


would. You can always tell a woodsman by 
the kind of fire he builds.’’ 

Presently the coffee boiled over and Mar- 
tin set it off, and by that time the ham and 
the bread were ready. And while they were 
eating their breakfast he set a pail of water on 
the fire to heat. That’s to wash the dishes 
in,” he said. A real woodsman washes his 
dishes as soon as he finishes each meal — does 
it a good deal more religiously than he washes 
his face or his hands, I fear.” 

When breakfast was finished, and the last 
dish cleaned, Martin said: Now you’ll have 
an hour’s practice at target-shooting. Take 
your gun and come along.” 

He led the way to the pile of boxes, and 
hunted out three or four solid looking cases. 
These were filled with paper boxes contain- 
ing cartridges — enough to supply an army, 
Larry thought. Tearing some of these open, 
Martin instructed the boy to fill the right 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 67 

hand pocket of his jacket with the little 
twenty-twos. “ And always remember that 
they are in that pocket and nowhere else,’’ he 
instructed. 

Next he opened a bundle and took out a 
belt on which there were a row of little leather 
pockets with snap fasteners. He filled these 
pockets with the larger calibre cartridges, six 
to each pocket, and instructed Larry to buckle 
it on over his coat. Then he led the way to 
a level piece of ground just above the camp, 
and having paced off fifty yards he fastened 
the round top of a large tin can against a tree 
and stepped back to the firing line. 

“ I’ll try one shot first to see if the sights 
are true,” he said, as he slipped a cartridge into 
each barrel. Then raising the gun to his 
shoulder he glanced through the sights and 
fired, “ Go and see where that hit,” he told 
the boy. 

Larry, running to the target, found the little 


68 


THE FOREST PILOT 


hole of the .22 bullet almost in the center of 
the tin, and shouted his discovery exultantly. 
Martin had fired so quickly after bringing the 
gun to his shoulder that the boy could scarcely 
believe his eyes, although the result of the 
shot did not seem to surprise the old hunter. 

Don’t try the .38 yet,” he instructed, hand- 
ing Larry the gun. Fire twenty shots with 
the .22, and go and see where each shot strikes 
as soon as you fire and have loaded. And 
don’t forget to bring the gun to half-cock, and 
to load before you leave your tracks. That is 
one of the main things to remember. After a 
little practice you will do it instinctively, so 
that you will always have a loaded gun in 
your hands. It may save your life sometime 
when you run up to a buck that you have 
knocked over and only stunned.” 

The boy took the gun and began his lesson, 
the hunter leaving him without waiting to see 
how he went about it. A few minutes later. 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 69 

when Larry had finished the twenty rounds, he 
found the old man going through the dis- 
mantled yacht. 

“Just making a final inspection to see if 
there is anything left that we may need,” the 
old hunter said. “ There’s a king’s ransom 
in here yet, but we can’t use it on our trip, and 
in another twenty-four hours it may be on the 
bottom of the ocean.” 

Larry, trying to conceal the pride he felt, 
handed Martin the tin target he had brought 
with him. The old hunter examined it 
gravely, counting the number of bullet holes 
carefully. There were ten of them, including 
the one Martin had made. 

“ Eleven misses in twenty shots,” he com- 
mented, simply. 

The boy, who was swelling with pride, 
looked crestfallen. 

“ But the last five all hit it,” he explained. 
“ At first I hit all around it, and then I hit it 


THE FOREST PILOT 


70 

almost every other time, and at last I hit it five 
times straight.” 

Put up a new target and try ten more,” 
was Martin’s only comment. But when Larry 
had gone he chuckled to himself with satis- 
faction. “ Some shooting for a city boy! ” he 
said to himself ; “ but I won’t spoil him by tell- 
ing him so.” 

When Larry returned with the second target 
there were seven bullet holes in it; but still 
the old hunter made no comment on the score. 

Now go back and try ten of the big ones, and 
remember that you are shooting at big game 
this time,” he admonished. 

Larry returned slowly to his shooting range. 
Martin was a very hard and unreasonable 
task-master, he decided. But, remembering 
that he had hit the mark so frequently before, 
he resolved to better his score this time. This 
was just the resolution Martin had hoped he 
would make. 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


71 

So the boy fastened the target in place, ad- 
justed the hammer for firing the larger car- 
tridge. Then he shut his teeth together hard, 
took a careful but quick aim, for Martin had 
explained that slow shooting was not the best 
for hunting, and pulled the trigger. The 
sound of the loud report startled him, and his 
shoulder was jerked back by the recoil. It 
didn’t hurt, exactly, for the aluminum butt 
plate was covered with a springy rubber pad; 
but it showed him very forcibly what a world 
of power there must be in those stubby little 
cylinders of brass and lead. 

He forgot his astonishment, however, when 
on going to the target, he found that the big 
bullet had pierced the tin almost in the center; 
and as he stood gazing at the hole he heard a 
low chuckle that cleared away all his dark 
clouds. Old Martin had slipped up behind 
him quietly; and there was no mistaking the 
old hunter’s wrinkled smile of satisfaction. 


72 


THE FOREST PILOT 


Now you see what you can do with Her,” 
the old man said, his eyes twinkling. If that 
tin had been a moose’s forehead he’d be a dead 
moose, sure enough. Did the noise and the 
kick surprise you? ” 

‘‘Yes, it did,” Larry admittted honestly; 
“ but it won’t next time — it never will again. 
And I am going to kill just nine more moose 
with these cartridges.” 

“ That’s the way to talk,” said Martin, with 
frank admiration; “after a few more shots 
you’ll get used to the recoil, and pretty soon 
you won’t even feel it. But you musn’t 
expect to make nine more bull’s-eyes just 
yet.” 

The old hunter went back to his work at the 
pile of plunder under the big canvas, and 
Larry fired his nine remaining rounds. Then 
he sought the old man again, but as Martin 
asked no question about the result of the 
shots, Larry did not volunteer any informa- 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


73 

tion. Presently Martin looked up from his 
work. 

“ I suppose you’ve cleaned the rifle now that 
you have finished practice for the morning? ” 
he inquired. 

Larry shook his head. 

“ Well that’s the very first thing to do, now, 
and always,” said the hunter. 

It took quite a time for the boy to clean and 
oil the gun so that he felt it would pass in- 
spection, and when he returned to Martin the 
old man was busy with an assortment of inter- 
esting looking parcels, placing them in sepa- 
rate piles. He was making notes on a piece of 
paper, while both the dogs were sniffing about 
the packages, greatly interested. 

The old hunter sent Larry to bring two of 
the toboggans that he had saved from the 
yacht. They looked like ordinary toboggans 
to the boy, but Martin called his attention to 
some of their good points which he explained 


THE FOREST PILOT 


74 

while he was packing them with what he 
called an experimental load,” made up from 
the pile of parcels he had been sorting 

Each of the toboggans had fastened to its top 
a stout canvas bag, the bottom of which was 
just the size of the top of the sled. The sides 
of the bag were about four feet high, each bag 
forming, in effect, a canvas box fastened se- 
curely to the toboggan. Martin pointed out 
the advantages of such an arrangement in one 
terse sentence. ‘‘ When that bag is tied up you 
can’t lose anything off your sled without losing 
the sled itself,” he said. And if you had 
ever done much sledging,” he added, ‘‘ you’d 
know what that means.” 

“ The usual way of doing it,” Martin ex- 
plained, “ is to pack your sled as firmly as you 
can, and then draw a canvas over it and lash it 
down. And that is a very good way, too. But 
this bag arrangement beats it in every way, 
particularly in taking care of the little things 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


75 

that are likely to spill out and be lost. With 
this bag there is no losing anything, big or 
little. You simply pack the big things on 
the bottom, and then instead of having to fool 
around half an hour fastening the little things 
on and freezing your fingers while you do 
it, you throw them all in on top, close up the 
end of the bag, and strap it down tight. You 
see it will ride then wherever the sled goes, 
for it is a part of the sled itself.” 

Larry noticed that most of the larger par- 
cels on the sled were done up in long, slender 
bags, and labeled. Martin explained that 
the bags were all made of waterproof mater- 
ial, and carefully sealed, and that narrow bags 
could be packed more firmly and rode in 
place better than short, stubby ones. A large 
proportion of these bags were labeled Pem- 
mican ” and the name excited the boy’s 
curiosity. 

“ It’s something good to eat, I know,” he 


76 THE FOREST PILOT 

said; “but what is it made of, Martin?” 

“ It’s an Indian dish that made it possible 
for Peary to reach the Pole,” Martin assured 
him. “ It is soup, and fish, and meat and 
vegetables, and dessert, all in one — only it 
hasn’t hardly any of those things in it. If 
you eat a chunk of it as big as your fist every 
day and give the same sized chunk to your 
dog, you won’t need any other kind of food, 
and your dog won’t. It has more heat and 
nourishment in it, ounce for ounce, than any 
other kind of food ever invented. That’s why 
I am going to haul sp much of it on our 
sleds.” 

While he was talking he had slit open one 
of the bags and showed Larry the contents, 
which resembled rather dirty, tightly pressed 
brown sugar. 

“Gee, it looks good!” the boy exclaimed. 
‘‘ Let’s have some of it for supper.” 

“You needn’t wait for supper,” Martin 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


77 

told him. “ Eat all you want of it, we’ve got 
at least a ton more than we can carry away 
with us.” And he cut off a big lump with his 
hunting knife and handed it to the boy. 

Larry’s mouth watered as he took it. He 
had visions of maple-sugar feasts on this ex- 
tra ton of Indian delicacy close at hand, as he 
took a regular boy’s mouthful, for a starter. 
But the next minute his expression changed to 
one of utmost disgust, and he ran to the water 
pail to rinse his mouth. He paused long 
enough, however, to hurl the remaining piece 
at the laughing hunter. But Martin ducked 
the throw, while Kim and Jack, the dogs, 
raced after the lump, Kim reaching it first 
and swallowing it at a gulp. 

What made you change your mind so 
suddenly? ” the old hunter asked when he 
could get his breath. “You seemed right 
hungry a minute ago, and I expected to see 
you eat at least a pound or two.” 


78 


THE FOREST PILOT 


“ Eat that stuff! ” Larry answered, between 
gulps from the water bucket. I’d starve to 
death before I’d touch another grain of it.” 

That’s what you think now,” the old man 
answered, becoming serious again ; — “ that’s 
what I thought, too, the first time I tasted it. 
It tasted to me then like a mixture of burnt 
moccasin leather and boot grease. But wait 
until you have hit the trail for ten hours in 
the cold, when you’re too tired to lift your feet 
from the ground, and you’ll think differently. 
You’ll agree with me then that a chunk of this 
pemmican as big as your two fists is only just 
one third big enough, and tastes like the best 
maple sugar you ever ate.” 

But the boy still made wry faces, and shook 
his head. What do they put into it to make 
it taste so? ” he asked. Or why don’t they 
flavor it with something? ” 

‘‘Oh, they flavor it,” Martin explained, 
laughing. “ They flavor it with grease 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


79 

poured all over it after they have dried the 
meat that it is made of, and pounded it up into 
fine grains. But take my word for it that 
when you try it next time, somewhere out 
there in the wilderness two or three weeks 
from now, you’ll say that they flavor it just 
right.” 

“ But we needn’t worry about that now,” 
he added. “ What we need more than any- 
thing else for to-night is a big lot of fire-wood, 
green and dry both. Take the axe and get in 
all you can between now and night. I want 
plenty of wood to use in teaching you how to 
make two other kinds of fires. Do you suppose 
you could cut down a tree about a foot in 
diameter? ” 

Larry thought he could. Some lumbermen 
in the Adirondacks had shown him how a 
tree could be felled in any direction by chop- 
ping a deep notch low down, and another 
higher up on the opposite side. He knew 


8o 


THE FOREST PILOT 


also about stepping to one side and away from 
the butt to avoid the possible kick-back of 
the trunk when the tree fell. 

So he selected a tree of the right size as near 
the tent as he could find one, felled it after 
much futile chopping and many rests for 
breath, and cut it into logs about six feet long. 
When he had finished he called the two dogs, 
put a harness on each, hitched them up tan- 
dem, and fastened the hauling rope to the end 
of one of the logs. Martin had suggested that 
he do this, so as to get accustomed to driving 
the dogs, and get the big fellows accustomed 
to being driven by him. 

The dogs, full of energy were eager for the 
work, and at the word sprang forward, yelp- 
ing and straining at the straps, exerting every 
ounce of strength in their powerful bodies. 
The log was a heavy one, and at first they 
could barely move it; but after creeping along 
for a few inches it gradually gained speed on 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


8i 


the thin snow, and was brought into camp on 
the run. Even in the excitement of shouting 
to the struggling dogs and yelping with an oc- 
casional push, Larry noticed the intelligence 
shown by the animals in swinging from one 
side to the other, feeling for the best position 
to get leverage, and taking advantage of the 
likely places. 

They seemed to enter into the spirit of the 
work, too, rushing madly back to the woods 
after each log or limb had been deposited at 
the tent, and waiting impatiently for Larry to 
make up the bundles of wood and fasten the 
draw rope. Working at this high pressure the 
boy and dogs soon had a huge pile of fire-wood 
at Martin’s disposal, and by the time the old 
hunter had finished his task, had laid in a 
three days’ supply. 

“Now you build a ‘cooking fire,’ such as 
I made this morning, and get supper going,” 
said Martin, coming over to the tent; “ and 


82 


THE FOREST PILOT 


while you are doing that I’ll be fixing up an- 
other kind of a fire — one called a ^ trapper’s 
fire,’ which is built for throwing heat into a 
tent.” 

The old hunter then drove two stakes into 
the ground directly in front of the opening 
of the tent and six feet from it, the stake 
being about five feet apart and set at right 
angles to the open flaps. Against these stakes 
he piled three of the green logs Larry had cut, 
one on top of the other like the beginning of 
a log house, and held them in place by two 
stakes driven in front, opposite the two first, 
stakes. Next he selected two green sticks 
about four inches in diameter and three feet 
long, and placed them like the andirons in 
a fireplace, the wall of logs serving as a re- 
flecting surface like the back wall of a chim- 
ney. Across these logs he now laid a fire, just 
as one would in a fireplace. 

Larry all this time had been busy getting 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 83 

the supper Martin offering a suggestion now 
and then. When he saw that the meal was al- 
most ready the old man spread a piece of 
canvas on the ground just inside the opening 
of the tent and before the log fire he had laid, 
and set out the plates and cups, and when 
Larry announced that the feast was ready 
Martin lighted the fire in front of the logs. 

He had a double motive in this — to show 
the boy how to make a heating fire and to 
furnish heat for the evening. For the weather 
was growing very cold, and he had some work 
that he wished to do which would require 
light to guide his fingers and heat for keep- 
ing them warm. 

With the protection of the tent back of 
them and the roaring fire in front they toasted 
their shins and ate leisurely. To Larry it all 
seemed like one grand lark, and he said so. 

I’m afraid you will change your mind 
about it being such a lark before we are 


THE FOREST PILOT 


84 

through with it,’’ the old man said presently. 
“ It won’t be a lark for either of us. But I’m 
beginning to feel more hopeful about it, now 
that I see that you can learn things^ and are 
willing to try.” 

He lighted his pipe and smoked thought- 
fully for a few minutes. Larry too, was 
thoughtful, turning over in his mind the old 
hunter’s last remark. 

And so you have been thinking all this 
time that I might be in the way — that perhaps 
you would be better off if you were alone, and 
didn’t have a boy like me on your hands? ” the 
boy asked presently. 

For a little time the old man did not an- 
swer, puffing his pipe and gazing silently at 
the fire. At last he said : 

“ I couldn’t help feeling a little that way at 
first, Larry. The job on our hands is one for 
a strong man, not for a city boy. But I’m feel- 
ing different now that I see how you take hold 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 85 

and are willing to work, and try to learn all the 
things I tell you. And wouldn’t it be funny,” 
he added, with a twinkle in his kindly eye, 
if, sometime, I should get into trouble and 
you have to help me out of it instead of my 
helping you all the time? A fellow can never 
tell what straoge things may happen on the 
trail ; and that is one reason why no man should 
start on a journey through the woods in the 
winter time alone.” 

Presently the old man knocked the ashes 
from his pipe and set about cleaning the 
dishes, Larry helping him; but neither of 
them were in talking mood, each busy with 
his own thoughts. When they had finished 
the hunter said : 

“ Now I’ll show you how to make an In- 
dian fire, the kind the Indian still likes best 
of all, and the best kind to use when wood is 
scarce or when you want to boil a pot of tea 
or get a quick meal.” 


86 


THE FOREST PILOT 


The old hunter then gathered an armful of 
small limbs, and laid them on the ground in 
a circle like the spokes of a wheel, the butts 
over-lapping at the center where the hub of 
the wheel would be. With a few small twigs 
he lighted a fire where the butts joined, the 
flames catching quickly and burning in a fierce 
verticle flame. 

“ This fire will make the most heat for the 
least amount of wood and throw the heat in all 
directions,” Martin explained. “ And that is 
why it is the best kind of a fire for heating a 
round tent, such as an Indian tepee.” 

“ But why did the Indian have to care about 
the amount of wood he burned? ” Larry asked. 
“ He had all the wood he wanted, just for the 
chopping of it, didn’t he? ” 

The old man smiled indulgently. “ Yes, he 
surely had all the wood he wanted just for the 
chopping — millions of cords of it. But how 
was he going to chop it without anything to 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 87 

chop it with, do you think? You forget that 
the old Indians didn’t have so much as a knife, 
let alone an axe. And that explains the whole 
thing: that’s why the Indian ma”de small fires 
and built skin tepees instead of log houses. 

If you left your axe and your knife here 
at the tent and went into the woods to gather 
wood, Larry, how long do you suppose it 
would take you to collect a day’s supply 
for our big fire? You wouldn’t have much 
trouble in getting a few armfuls of fallen 
and broken branches but; very soon you’d find 
the supply running short. The logs would be 
too large to handle, and most of the limbs too 
big to break. And so you would soon be cold 
and hungry, with a month’s supply of dry tim- 
ber right at your front dooryard. 

But it’s all so different when you can give 
a tap here and there with your axe, or a few 
strokes with your hunting knife. And this 
was just what the poor Indian couldn’t do; 


88 


THE FOREST PILOT 


for he had no cutting tool of any kind worth 
the name until the white man came. So 
he learned to use little sticks for his fire, and 
built his house of skins stretched over small 
poles. 

It is hard for us to realize that cutting 
down a tree was about the hardest task an In- 
dian could ever attempt. Why the strongest 
Indian in the tribe, working as hard as he 
could with the best tool he could find, couldn’t 
cut down a tree as quickly as you could with 
your hunting knife. He could break rocks to 
pieces by striking them with other rocks, and 
he could dig caves in the earth ; but when it 
came to cutting down a tree he was stumped. 
The big trees simply stood up and laughed at 
him. No wonder he worshipped the forests 
and the tree gods I 

“ Of course when the white man came and 
supplied axes, hatchets, and knives, he solved 
the problem of fire-wood for the Indian. But 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 89 

he never changed the Indian’s idea about small 
fires. Too many thousand generations of 
Indian ancestors had been making that kind of 
a fire all their lives; and the Indian is a great 
fellow to stick to fixed habits. He adopted the 
steel hatchet and the knife, but he stuck to his 
round fire and his round tepee. 

And yet, although he had never seen a steel 
hatchet until the white man gave him one, he 
improved the design of the white man’s axe 
right away. The white man’s hatchet was a 
broad-bladed, clumsy thing, heavy to carry 
and hard to handle. The Indian designed a 
thin, narrow-bladed, light hatchet — the toma- 
hawk — that would bite deeper into the wood 
and so cut faster than the white man’s thick 
hatchet. And every woodsman now knows 
that for fast chopping, with little work, a 
hatchet made on the lines of the tomahawk 
beats out the other kind.” 

The old man took his own hunting axe 


THE FOREST PILOT 


90 

from the sheath at his belt and held it up for 
inspection. 

“You see it’s just a modified tomahawk,” 
he said, “ with long blade and thin head, and 
only a little toy axe, to look at. But it has cut 
down many good-sized trees when I needed 
them, all the same. And the axe you were 
using this afternoon, as you probably noticed, 
is simply a bigger brother of this little fel- 
low, exactly the same shape. It’s the kind the 
trappers use in the far North, because it will 
do all the work of a four-pound axe, and is 
only half as heavy. We’ve got some of those 
big axes over there under the tarpaulin, but 
we’ll leave them behind when we hit the trail, 
and take that small one with us.” 

While they were talking Martin had been 
getting out a parcel containing clothing and 
odds and ends, and now he sat down before 
the fire to “ do some work” as he expressed 
it. 


LESSONS IN PILOTING 


91 


If youTe not too sleepy to listen,” he said, 
I’ll tell you a story that I know about a little 
Algonquin Indian boy.” 

Larry was never too tired to listen to 
Martin’s stories; and so he curled up on a 
blanket before the fire, while the old man 
worked and talked. 


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CHAPTER V 

THE STORY OF WEEWAH THE HUNTER 


93 














CHAPTER V 


THE STORY OF WEEWAH THE HUNTER 

It had been a hard day’s work for both of 
them, and strange as everything was to Larry, 
and awful as the black woods seemed as he 
peeped out beyond the light of the fire, he had 
a strange feeling of security and contentment. 
It might be that there were terribly hard days 
of toil and danger and privations ahead, but 
he was too cozily situated now to let that 
worry him. 

Besides he was feeling the satisfaction that 
every boy feels in the knowledge that he has 
done something well. And even the exacting 
old Martin, always slow to praise or even 
commend, had told him over his cup of tea 

and his soup at supper, that he would make 

95 


96 THE FOREST PILOT 

a hunter of him some day.” And what higher 
praise could a boy hope for? 

“ Nobody knows just how old Weewah was 
when he became a mighty hunter,” Martin 
began presently, without looking up from his 
sewing, because Indians don’t keep track of 
those things as we white folks do. But he 
couldn’t have been any older than you are, 
perhaps not quite so old. 

“ He was old enough to know how to handle 
his bow and arrows, though, to draw a strong 
enough bow to shoot an arrow clean through 
a woodchuck or a muskrat, or even a beaver, 
although he had never found the chance to try 
at the beaver. He carried his own tomahawk, 
too — a new one that the factor at Hudson Bay 
Post had given him, — and was eager to show 
his prowess with it on larger game. 

‘‘ But the hunting was done by the grown 
up men of the village, who thought Weewah 
too small to hunt anything larger than rabbits. 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 97 

Yet there were other boys of his own age who 
found more favor in the hunters’ eyes because 
they were larger than he. ^ Some day you will 
be a hunter,’ they told him, ^ but now you are 
too small.’ 

Weewah’s heart was big, even if his body 
was small. And so one day he took all his 
long arrows, his strongest bow, and his toma- 
hawk and resolved to go into the big woods 
at some distance from the village, and do some- 
thing worthy of a hunter. 

It was winter time, and the snow on the 
ground was knee-deep with just a little crust 
on it. On his snow-shoes Weewah glided 
through the forest, noticing everything he 
passed and fixing it in his memory instinctively 
so that he could be sure of finding the back 
trail. For this day he meant to go deep, deep 
into the spruce swamp in his hunting. There 
he would find game worthy of the bow of the 
mighty hunter he intended to prove himself. 


98 


THE FOREST PILOT 


“ The tracks of many animals crossed his 
path, little wood dwellers such as rabbits and 
an occasional mink. But these did not interest 
him to-day. He had brought his snares, of 
course, for he always carried them ; but to-day 
his heart was too full of a mighty ambition 
to allow such little things as rabbit snares to 
interrupt his plans. 

Once he did stop when he saw, just ahead 
of him on the snow, a little brown bunch of 
fur with two big brown eyes looking at him 
wonderingly. In an instant he had drawn the 
poised arrow to his cheek and released it with 
a twang. And a moment later the little brown 
bunch of fur was in Weewah’s pouch, ready 
for making into rabbit stew in the evening. 

Weewah took it as a good omen that he 
had killed the rabbit on the very edge of the 
spruce swamp that he had selected for his 
hunting ground. Soon he would find game 
more worthy of his arrows or his axe. And so 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 


99 

he was not surprised, even if his heart did give 
an extra bound, when presently he came upon 
the track of a lynx. It was a fresh track, too, 
and the footprints were those of a very big 
lynx. 

Weewah knew all this the moment he 
looked at the tracks, just as he knew a thou- 
sand other things that he had learned in the 
school of observation. He knew also that in 
all probability the animal was not half a mile 
away, possibly waiting in some tree, or crouch- 
ing in some bushes looking for ptarmigan or 
rabbit. He was sure, also, that he could# run 
faster on his snow-shoes than the lynx could in 
that deep soft snow. 

“ So for several minutes he stood and 
thought as fast as he could. What a grand 
day for him it would be if he could come 
back to the village dragging a great lynx after 
him! No one would ever tell him again that 
he was too small to be a hunter. 


lOO 


THE FOREST PILOT 


“ But while he was sorely tempted to rush 
after the animal with the possibility of getting 
a shot, or a chance for a blow of his axe, he 
knew that this was not the surest way to get 
his prey. He had discovered the hunting 
ground of the big cat, and he knew that there 
was no danger of its leaving the neighborhood 
so long as the supply of rabbits held out. By 
taking a little more time, then, Weewah knew 
he could surely bring the fellow into camp. 
And so he curbed his eagerness. 

Instead of rushing off along the trail, bow 
bent and arrow on the string, he opened his 
pouch and took out a stout buck-skin string — 
a string strong enough to resist the pull of the 
largest lynx. In one end of this he made a 
noose with a running knot. Next he cut a 
stout stick three inches thick and as tall as 
himself. Then he walked along the trail of 
the lynx for a little distance, looking sharply 
on either side, until he found a low-hanging, 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER loi 


thick bunch of spruce boughs near which the 
animal had passed. Here the boy stopped and 
cut two more strong sticks, driving them into 
the ground about two feet apart, so that they 
stood three feet above the snow and right in 
front of a low-hanging bunch of spruce 
boughs. 

At the top of each he had left a crotch, 
across which he now laid his stick with the 
looped string dangling from the center. The 
contrivance when completed looked like a 
great figure H, from the cross-bar of which 
hung the loop just touching the top of the 
snow. 

“ Now Weewah carefully opened the loop 
of the noose until it was large enough for the 
head of any lynx to pass through, and fastened 
it deftly with twigs and blades of dead grass, 
so as to hold it in place firmly. From its front 
the thing looked like a miniature gallows — ■ 
which, indeed, it was. 


102 


THE FOREST PILOT 


Next Weewah took the rabbit from his 
pouch, and creeping under the thicket care- 
fully so as not to disturb his looped string, he 
placed the still warm body an arm’s length be- 
hind the loop, propping the head of the little 
animal up with twigs, to look as lifelike as 
possible. In an hour, at most, the rabbit 
would freeze and stiffen, and would then look 
exactly like a live rabbit crouching in the 
bushes. 

“ Then the little Indian broke off branches, 
thrusting them into the snow about the rabbit, 
until he had formed a little bower facing the 
snare. Any animal attempting to seize it 
would thrust its own head right through the 
fatal hangman’s loop. 

When Weewah had finished this task he 
gathered up his tomahawk and bow and 
arrows, and started back along his own trail. 
He made no attempt to cover up the traces of 
his work, as he would if trapping a fox; for 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 103 

the lynx is a stupid creature, like all of his 
cousins of the cat family, and will blunder 
into a trap of almost any kind. 

The little Indian hurried along until he 
reached the point from which he had first 
crossed the lynx tracks. Here he turned 
sharply, starting a great circle, which would 
be about a mile in diameter. He did this to 
make sure that the lynx had not gone on 
farther than he thought. If he found no sign 
of fresh tracks he could feel certain that the 
animal was still close at hand. 

This took him several hours, and it was 
almost dark when he pulled back the flap and 
entered his home lodge in the village. He 
was tired, too, but his eyes shone with sup- 
pressed emotion. 

As soon as he entered his mother set be- 
fore him a smoking bowl of broth without a 
word of comment or a question as to what his 
luck might have been in his rabbit hunting. 


THE FOREST PILOT 


104 

His father was there, gorging himself on fat 
beaver meat that he had just brought in ; but 
neither he, nor Weewah’s brothers and sisters, 
offered any comment at the little boy’s 
entrance. 

“ It is not correct etiquette, in Algonquin 
families, to ask the hunter what luck he has 
had until he has eaten. Even then a verbal 
question is not asked. But when the repast is 
finished the Indian woman takes a pouch of 
the hunter and turns its contents out upon the 
floor. 

“ The emptiness of Weewah’s pouch spoke 
for itself, for he had flung it upon the floor on 
entering, where it lay flat. His father scowled 
a little when he noticed it; for he wanted his 
son to be a credit to him as a hunter. But his 
scowl turned into a merry twinkle when he 
saw how radiant his son’s face was despite his 
ill luck, and what a small, delicately formed 
little fellow he was. Besides the old warrior 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 105 

was in an unusually good humor. Had he not 
killed a fat beaver that day? And was not 
beaver tail the choicest of all foods? 

“ In a few hours Weewah’s brothers and 
sisters, rolled in their warm Hudson Bay 
blankets, were breathing heavily, and his 
father and mother were far away in dream- 
land. Weewah was in dreamland, too; but 
not the land that comes with sleep. He was in 
the happy state of eager expectation that 
comes when to-morrow is to be a great day in 
one’s life. And so he lay, snugly wrapped in 
his blanket, his black eyes shining as he 
watched the embers of the fire in the center of 
the tepee slowly grow dim and smoulder 
away. Meanwhile the very thing he was 
dreaming about was happening out in the dark 
spruce swamp. 

The great lynx, whose tracks Weewah had 
seen, started out just at dusk on his nightly 
rabbit and grouse hunt. He had spent the day 


io6 THE FOREST PILOT 

curled up under the protecting boughs of a 
drooping spruce almost within sound of Wee- 
wah’s hatchet where the snare was being set. 
Now he took his way leisurely along his 
former trail, sniffing the air, and examining 
every likely looking nook that might hide the 
material for his supper. His great, fur- 
padded feet gave out no sound as he glided 
along over the now frozen crust, and he was 
the embodiment of stealth as he glided for- 
ward with ears erect, and stubby tail straight 
out. 

Suddenly he stopped, raised his head and 
distended his nostrils, drinking in the familiar 
odor wafted to him from some point near at 
hand. Then he dropped low, his long fur 
dragging noiselessly on the snow crust, as he 
wormed snake-like along toward a clump of 
low-hanging spruces. His keen, yellow eyes 
had caught sight of the crouching rabbit held 
in place at first by the twigs that Weewah 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 107 

had placed there, but now stiff and rigid as 
iron. 

Closer and closer crept the lynx, until he 
was within six feet of his victim. And still the 
rabbit did not move. The great body, quiv- 
ering with suppressed energy, now slowly 
lowered itself and the hind legs were carefully 
drawn under for the spring. Then like a flash 
the gray body shot forward and with a snarl 
the dagger-like teeth closed upon the bunch 
of fur. 

At the same time the lynx felt a violent 
tug at his throat, and a heavy club dealt him 
a sharp blow across the back as it fell from 
overhead. In amazement the great brute 
dropped the rabbit, springing violently back- 
ward as he did so. But the leather thong 
about his neck and the club attached to it fol- 
lowed him in the spring, the noose tightening 
about his neck. 

“ With a scream of rage he pulled violently 


io8 


THE FOREST PILOT 


to free himself, bracing with his great fore 
feet against the club as he did so. But instead 
of freeing himself he felt a quick tightening of 
the noose at his throat. Frantic with rage and 
fright he continued to jerk and pull, some- 
times changing his attack to viciously biting 
the stick. But the only effect produced was to 
gradually tighten the noose, which was now 
tangled with the thick throat hair, and did not 
relax. 

“ Time and again he returned furiously to 
the attack, bracing his feet against the stick, 
and pulling with all his strength. Inevitably 
he would have choked himself to death, as 
Weewah had planned he should, but for the 
fact that the little Indian had made the loop 
a little too long, so that the pulling produced 
a violent but not fatal choking. Many a lynx 
commits suicide in this way just as the trapper 
plans it. 

“ For hours the lynx wrestled vainly to free 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 109 

itself, varying the attacks on the club by trying 
to run away from it But running away from 
it was quite as much out of the question as 
tearing it loose. For when the animal at- 
tempted to run the club was jerked about its 
limbs, tripping it, and frequently becoming 
entangled in brush and bushes. At last, ex- 
hausted, and thoroughly sulky, the great cat 
laboriously climbed a tree, and extended itself 
along one of the lower limbs, the club still 
dangling at one side from its neck. In all its 
struggles it had not gone more than two hun- 
dred yards from where the trap had been 
set. 

An hour before daylight the next morn- 
ing, Weewah, who had been waiting for the 
first indications of morning, stole silently out 
of the tepee without awakening even the light- 
sleeping members of his family. He carried 
with him his own tomahawk, and his bow and 
arrow ; but also he carried the heavy axe that 


iiio 


THE FOREST PILOT 


his mother used for cutting the wood for the 
fire. She would miss it, he knew, and also he 
knew that he would be in for a solid whack 
from the first stick that lay handy when he re- 
turned; but he was willing to brave all this. 
The axe must be had at any cost. 

The sun was just pushing its blood red 
rim above the low hills in the east when he 
reached the edge of the spruce swamp. And it 
was still only an oval, fire red ball when the 
little Indian approached the place where he 
had set the snare the day before. He had 
swung along lightly and swiftly over the be- 
ginning of the trail, but now as he approached 
the goal his heart beat hard against his chest, 
just as any white boy’s would have done un- 
der the circumstances. But long before he 
actually reached the spot where the trap had 
been left he knew that he had been successful. 
Successful, at least, in having lured the prey 
into his snare. 


JVEEWAH THE HUNTER iii. 

He could tell this by the condition of the 
snow, which had been dug up and thrown 
about by the wild struggle of the lynx. He 
loosened his tomahawk, therefore, held his 
arrow in readiness on the string, and ap- 
proached the scene of turmoil. 

“ One glance at the trampled snow, the dead 
rabbit still lying where the lynx had dropped 
it, and the broad twisting trail leading further 
into the swamp, told him the story of what had 
taken place more completely than any white 
man could write it. And almost without paus- 
ing he began following this trail cautiously 
forward, his arrow still poised; for one never 
knows what a captive animal may do when 
driven to desperation. 

“ Suddenly the little Indian stopped, his 
eyes snapping as he drew the arrow to the 
head with every ounce of strength in his arms 
and back. There, crouching on an upper limb 
of a tree perhaps a foot in diameter, was the 


1 12 


THE FOREST PILOT 


huge lynx, watching him with curling lips, 
crouching ready to spring. 

“ Weewah’s first impulse was to send the 
finishing shaft through the great body on the 
limb. It would be a great triumph for Wee- 
wah — the little Indian boy, too small yet to be 
a hunter — to drag into his father’s tepee early 
that morning a great forest cat killed with his 
own bow and arrow. But after all, would a 
really great hunter feel much pride in killing 
a captive lynx from a safe distance with an 
arrow? 

“ He knew very well that doing such a thing 
would not mark him as a great hunter. And 
he was determined that he should be called a 
great hunter before he was a day older. 

‘‘ So he lowered his arrow, removed it from 
the string, and laid the bow down beside the 
tree. He loosened his own tomahawk, also, 
and laid that close at hand near the tree trunk. 
Then he seized the big axe of his mother that 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 113 

he had brought with him and began chopping 
at the trunk, making the chips fly rapidly 
under his skillful aim. 

At the first blow of the axe against the 
trunk the lynx had half risen, giving a fierce 
growl of rage. For a moment it hesitated, 
ready to spring on the boy. But that moment 
of hesitancy was decisive. And as the strokes 
of the axe continued uninterruptedly the great 
animal gradually settled down sulkily on the 
branch, cowed by its fruitless battle with the 
cord and stick. 

“ Meanwhile Weewah was swinging his axe 
to good purpose. Nor was he directing his 
blows in a haphazard manner. With practiced 
eye he had selected a clear spot where he 
wished the tree to fall, and now by cutting half 
way through the trunk on the side facing in 
that direction, and then cutting on exactly the 
opposite side a little higher up he knew that 
the tree would fall precisely as he wished. 


THE FOREST PILOT 


114 

“ Presently the tree began to waver slightly. 
It was sufficient, however, to make the great 
cat on the bough crouch and whine with 
fright. A few more sharp blows of the axe 
made the top limbs tremble ominously. A 
puff of wind now would have toppled it over; 
but there was not a breath of air stirring. 
Another axe stroke or two and it would bring 
it to the ground. 

But before delivering the finishing strokes 
Weewah paused long enough to replace his 
snow-shoes which he had removed before he 
began chopping. He also picked up his toma- 
hawk and thrust it half way into his belt, 
where he could seize it instantly. Then he 
took the axe and gave three vigorous, care- 
fully directed finishing blows. 

“ And still the lynx did not leap. When the 
creature felt the limb quivering beneath it, it 
rose as if to jump ; then, confused and uncer- 
tain, it crouched low again, clinging tightly to 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 115 

the branch as if for protection. Just before 
the limb reached the ground, however, it 
sprang far out into the snow, making violent 
leaps with the club whirling about it, and 
quickly becoming entangled. 

Weewah, with tomahawk raised, was close 
upon its heels. Another stride and he would 
have buried the blade in the animal’s skull. 
But at that moment the lynx wheeled sud- 
denly, dodging the blow aimed at its head, and 
sprang toward its pursuer. Its great claws as 
it struck at him cat fashion, scratched Wee- 
wah’s cheek, and cut two deep grooves in his 
shoulder. It was a blow that would have been 
disastrous had not the entangled club jerked 
the animal to one side. 

With a yell the little Indian sprang to- 
ward the crouching, snarling animal, thrust- 
ing out his right snow-shoe as he did so. In- 
stantly the frame and lacings of the shoe were 
crushed in the savage jaws of the lynx. But 


THE FOREST PILOT 


1 16 

at the same moment the tomahawk blade 
flashed through the air and buried itself deep 
in the thick skull. 

‘‘ Without a sound the great fur-cov- 
ered body relaxed, quivered, and then lay 
still with the teeth still buried in the snow- 
shoe frame only an inch from Weewah’s 
foot. 

“ The little Indian stood for a few moments 
looking at his victim. Then he reached down 
and tried to pry loose the fixed jaws. It was 
no easy task. For the muscles had set in the 
last convulsive death grip and it was only with 
the aid of his tomahawk blade that they could 
finally be relaxed. 

Weewah now lashed the forepaws to the 
dead animal’s lower jaw to prevent them from 
catching against things as he dragged the body 
over the snow. Then he unfastened the strap 
from the club, and taking the line over his 
shoulder started for home, scuffing along as 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 117 

best he could on his broken snow-shoe, towing 
the big cat after him. 

“ All that morning Weewah’s mother had 
scolded about the missing axe. Weewah was 
missing too, but she felt no solicitude about 
that. With the axe it was different: people 
who took away axes were not always partic- 
ular about returning them, whereas boys 
always came back. It hadn’t occurred to her 
that the boy and the axe had gone away to- 
gether. 

“ She had grumblingly gathered wood for 
the fire without the aid of her usual imple- 
ment, and now was busily engaged in boiling 
roots and meat in a great pot, while her hus- 
band smoked his pipe, paying no attention to 
his spouse’s complaints. Some of the smaller 
children were playing noisy games, running in 
and out of the tepee, shouting and laughing 
like a pack of white school children. 

Presently one of Weewah’s younger sis- 


THE FOREST PILOT 


1 18 

ters, squatted on a stump, raised a shrill cry, 
‘ Weewah, Weewah is coming! ’ 

“ The playing stopped at once, the children 
gathering in front of the tepee to gaze in mute 
astonishment at their older brother. Tired as 
he was from dragging the load, and leg weary 
from stumbling along with his broken snow- 
shoe, he now held his head erect and his chin 
high. Without a word he strode into the open 
flap of the tepee, dragging the dead lynx after 
him. In front of his father he stopped and 
dropped his burden; then he drew the blood- 
stained tomahawk from his belt and laid it 
beside the dead animal, and stood silently be- 
fore his parent with folded arms. 

‘‘ For several minutes the warrior smoked 
his pipe in silence. Then he gave a grunt of 
satisfaction, laid his pipe aside, and ran his 
hand deliberately over the body of the dead 
animal. He found no arrow holes. Next he 
turned the great head and examined the clean 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER 119 

wound, and then the blood-stained blade of 
the tomahawk, and the tightened cord of buck- 
skin about the neck. 

His examination told him the story of 
what had happened out there in the woods. 
He knew that Weewah had first caught the 
lynx in his snare, and then had killed it with a 
blow from his tomahawk instead of shooting it 
with an arrow. And he was proud of his son. 
But no one but an Indian would have known it. 

With another grunt of satisfaction, how- 
ever, he drew his hunting knife from the 
sheath in his belt. By a few deft strokes he 
severed two toes from the fore-paw of the lynx, 
with the long curved claws protruding, leav- 
ing a strip of fur at the back. Then he quickly 
fashioned a loop in the skin so that the claws 
hung as a pendant from it. When this was 
finished to his satisfaction he stood up and 
beckoned to the boy; and when Weewah 
stepped forward the old Indian placed the fur 


120 


THE FOREST PILOT 


string about his neck with the lynx claws sus- 
pended in front. 

“ Then he placed his hands on the little fel- 
low’s shoulders and looked sharply into his 
eyes, the little Indian returning the gaze with 
quiet dignity. 

^ Weewah, the mighty hunter,’ the old 
Indian said slowly. 

Then he seated himself and resumed his 
pipe as if nothing had happened.” 

Martin knocked the ashes out of his pipe 
and threw an extra chunk of wood on the fire. 

“ Time we were turning in,” he said. 

But tell me,” Larry asked; “did Wee- 
wah’s mother give him the beating for taking 
her axe? ” 

“ What, beat a mighty hunter like Wee- 
wah?” Martin asked in feigned surprise. 
“No indeed! No more beatings for him. 
From that day on no woman, not even his 
mother, would ever give him a blow. And his 


WEEWAH THE HUNTER i2ii 

father would now take him with him on his 
hunting trips, even into the most dangerous 
places, just as he would any other hunter. For 
he had proved his title, you see.” 

Then the old man took his pipe from his 
lips, and said to the boy earnestly: 

‘‘ You see I am the old Indian and you are 
Weewah in this case. Only you haven’t had a 
chance to kill your lynx yet. But we are going 
right into that country where the lynx lives, 
and sooner or later you’ll have a chance to 
show your metal. When that time comes re- 
member the story of little Weewah. 

And now you must turn in for the 
night.” 


! 





. CHAPTER VI 

FINAL PREPARATIONS 


123 


•l 


CHAPTER VI 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 

Sometime in the middle of the night Larry 
was awakened by flakes of snow driven into his 
face, and by the sound of the storm howling 
around the tent. The flakes sputtered in the 
fire which still flared and struggled to keep 
burning. The boy was warm and comfortable 
in the fur bag, however, and after pulling the 
flap over his head to keep out the snow, he was 
soon sleeping soundly. When he opened his 
eyes again it was daylight, and Martin was 
plodding about in the storm, building a fire 
close to the tent where the wind struck it least. 
The snow was still falling and was even then a 
foot deep on the level. 

The old hunter was in high spirits : he had 
125 


126 


THE FOREST PILOT 


been hoping for the storm, and the fact that it 
was a roaring blizzard made no difference to 
him so long as the snow kept falling. 

The inside of the tent was warm and the 
boy crawled out of the fur bag reluctantly and 
reached for his shoes. 

“Not that pair,’’ old Martin said; “ there 
are your things over at the foot of your bed. 
No more city clothes from now on. I nearly 
worked my fingers off last night getting things 
ready for you.” 

Larry wondered how much time the old 
hunter had found for sleep when he examined 
the pile of clothing the hunter had laid out 
for him. For most of the pieces had been 
altered in some way to make them so that the 
boy could wear them, cut down from some of 
the larger garments from the hunting outfit. 
iSleeves and trouser-legs had been cut off or 
turned up, and buttons set over to take up the 
slack of the bagging jacket in a way that 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 127 

showed how handy the old hunter was with the 
needle. His most laborious task had been in 
reducing the size of a pair of moose-skin moc- 
casins, although he had simplified this opera- 
tion by taking in the back seam. At that they 
were at least three sizes too large, as Larry 
pointed out. 

But when you have on two, or three, or 
four pairs of thick German socks,” Martin 
assured him, “ you won’t notice a little thing 
like that. And you’ll fill out the rest of the 
clothes with underwear the same way.” 

Beside the pile of clothing Martin had 
placed some other things which he told the 
boy were to be his personal belongings that 
were to be carried with him all the time ex- 
cept when he slept. But the hunter told him 
not to put them away until after they had had 
breakfast, and made things a little more secure 
about the tent. So Larry left the things as he 
found them, and went to help Martin. 


128 THE FOREST PILOT 

He soon discovered the difference between 
his new clothes and the city ’’ ones he had 
discarded. Even the fury of the blizzard 
could not force the piercing cold through the 
thick, soft Mackinaw cloth; and with the ex- 
ception of the end of his nose, he was as warm 
as toast as he worked under the hunter’s direc- 
tions. 

One side and the back of their tent was pro- 
tected from the wind by the wall of rock, and 
the fire checked the fury of the storm from 
the front; but the snow drifted in on them 
from the unprotected side, and they remedied 
this by stretching a piece of canvas across the 
gap. It was no easy task, and several times the 
wind tore it away before they could get it 
anchored securely, but when it was finally 
made storm proof the enclosure before the 
roaring fire was almost as warm and comfort- 
able as a house. 

“ Now for your equipment,” Martin an- 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 129 

nounced, when everything was secured to his 
complete satisfaction. 

Larry found that a light hunting hatchet 
and a stout hunting knife had been added to 
his belt of cartridges, suspended in leather 
sheaths from loops slipped over the belt. The 
belt itself was passed through the loops in the 
jacket, so that the weight came upon his 
shoulders instead of his waist, and when 
buckled, drew the coat snugly around him. 
The gun in its sheath was slung over his 
shoulder and hung at his left side. His fur 
mittens were fastened with leather strings to 
the coat sleeves so that there was no possibility 
of losing them even when slipped off. 

There was a pocket compass in a hunting 
ca^e about the size of a watch which fitted 
into an upper pocket of his jacket which had 
a button flap for holding it. As an additional 
precaution against losing it a leather string 
reached from the inside of the pocket and was 


THE FOREST PILOT 


130 

fastened to the ring. And Larry found that 
his watch was secured in his watch-pocket in 
a similar manner. 

We can’t take a chance on losing any- 
thing,” the hunter explained; “ for there are 
no jewelry stores along the road that we are 
going to travel.” 

Larry found that there were three water- 
proof match boxes to be distributed in his 
trousers’ pockets, and a pocket knife that 
combined several kinds of useful tools. The 
matches seemed to be the ordinary parlor kind. 
But Martin surprised him by taking one, dip- 
ping it in a cup of water, and then after wiping 
it off, lighting it like an ordinary dry match. 
Even after a match had been floating in the 
water for several minutes it would light and 
burn readily. 

“ They’ve all been dipped in shellac,” 
Martin explained. “ The shellac forms a 
water-proof coating that keeps out moisture 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 131 


but doesn’t interfere with lighting or burning. 
So even if your match safe leaks you won’t 
have to go without a fire.” 

In one box which Larry thought contained 
matches he found six little cubes looking like 
wax run into little square aluminum cups. 
Martin explained their use by a simple dem- 
onstration. He placed one of them on the 
ground where he had scraped away the snow, 
laid a handful of sticks over it, struck a match 
and touched the wax-like substance. It burst 
into a bright flame at once, and continued to 
burn fiercely for several minutes, igniting the 
sticks about it and helping to keep their strug- 
gling flames going until enough heat had been 
generated to make a steady fire. 

That’s a new fangled thing called ‘ solid 
alcohol,’ used to start a tenderfoot’s fire when 
he is wet and cold and has no little dry twigs 
at hand,” said Martin. An old woodsmen 
like me ought to throw the stuff away and 


THE FOREST PILOT 


132 

scorn to use it; and forty years ago I would 
have done so. But I am wiser now, I hope, 
and I don’t despise some of the new things as I 
did then. And I remember two different 
occasions when I came near losing my life in 
the snow because my hands were so cold and 
numb, and the small wood was so scarce, that I 
came near not getting my fire started at all. 
So now I am going to take along a few 
packages of these cubes, and you must do the 
same. We’ll never use it except as a last re- 
sort; but sometime it may come in handy for 
-starting a fire or boiling a cup of tea. 

You know we will only use two matches 
a day after we leave here — one match to start 
our fire at noon and at night. There will be 
coals from the night next morning to cook our 
breakfast by. It’s a mark of bad woodsman- 
ship to have to use more than one match to 
start a fire, no matter what kind of weather is 
going.” 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 133 

“ But how about your pipe? ” Larry asked. 
For the old man smoked almost continually 
during his waking hours. 

Old Martin sighed and shook his head. 
“ No more pipe for me after we leave here,” 
he said, with a little laugh. The weight in 
pemmican that I’ll take instead of the tobacco 
may be just the amount that will decide the 
question of our getting through alive. Smok- 
ing isn’t a necessity, but eating is.” 

Larry looked at the old man to see if he were 
not joking; but he saw that he was thoroughly 
in earnest. It made the boy realize the serious 
nature of the task before them to know that the 
old man was going to sacrifice the greatest 
solace of his life. But it roused his determina- 
tion, and his spirits were too buoyant to be 
long depressed. 

All day long Martin kept him busy helping 
at various things that must be completed be- 
fore their departure. The toboggans were 


THE FOREST PILOT 


134 

hauled into the canvas enclosure, where he 
and the old man packed and unpacked the 
loads, adding something here, or leaving out 
something there, working in the glow of the 
warm fire. Dog harnesses had to be altered 
and extra ones tucked away on the sleds, 
snow-shoe lacings examined and re-lashed, 
and a dozen things attended to that Larry 
recognized as important when Martin pointed 
them out. The fire, too, needed consider- 
able tending to keep a huge kettle of beans 
cooking which Martin declared must sim- 
mer all day if they were to be cooked prop- 
erly. 

Toward night the wind subsided, and the 
clouds cleared away, so that by the time they 
had finished their heaping plates of pork and 
beans the stars were out glistening like steel 
points in the frosty air. Later in the evening 
they heard howling in the distance — terrify- 
ing sounds to the boy, made by a pack of big 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 135 

timber wolves out on a hunt, as Martin ex- 
plained. And for fear the dogs might start an 
independent wolf hunt on their own account, 
Martin tied up the big malamoots after he had 
fed them. 

During the day Martin had brought several 
armfuls of packages into the tent from the 
stores under the tarpaulin as he went back and 
forth at his work. Now that supper was over 
and the dishes cleaned he lighted his pipe and 
and seated himself beside the packages. He 
was always talkative when working by the 
evening fire, and seemed to find great pleasure 
in imparting bits of information to the boy 
from his inexhaustible store of woodland ex- 
periences. 

To-night as he began fumbling among the 
packages, he asked : 

“ Larry, have you decided what you are 
going to carry in your ditty bag? ” 

Ditty bag? ” Larry repeated; Pd know 


136 THp FOREST PILOT 

better what I was going to carry in it if I 
knew what a ^ ditty bag ’ was.” 

What, a veteran forest pilot like you not 
know what a ditty bag is!” Martin asked in 
mock astonishment. “ Then it’s high time 
for you to learn. A ditty bag is the thing 
that does for the woodsman what all the 
pockets in a suit of clothes do for a boy — it 
carries the forty and one indispensable things 
that can’t be carried in some other place. 
You’d better sit over here beside me and make 
yours up to-night while I am fitting out 
mine.” 

So the boy moved over to the little pile of 
packages ready for instructions. 

The hunter handed him a little bag made 
of tough water-proof material with a string 
at the top for tying securely. Then he rum- 
maged through the packages, taking out what 
he wanted and placing them in the bag. At his 
suggestion Larry duplicated this selection of 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 137 

things for his own bag, so that in case one bag 
should be lost they would still have the other. 
“ But,” said Martin, “ you must put in some 
little thing for luck — anything that strikes 
your fancy, after the other things are in. 
That’s a hunter’s superstition, like the Indian’s 
‘ medicine.’ ” 

The first useful article selected was a neat 
Red Cross package containing a few useful 
medicines and surgical dressings for an emer- 
gency. Next came needles of all sizes, with 
several skeins of thread, and a wooden handle 
in which were several awls, neatly stored in 
a hollow bobbin on which was wound many 
lengths of strong waxed cord. A can of gun- 
oil found a place; and a small whetstone, rough 
on one side for sharpening the axes, and 
smooth on the other for the knives. A tool 
case, containing a ‘‘ good-sized carpenter 
shop,” as Martin explained and made of 
aluminum after Mr. Ware’s own design, found 


138 THE FOREST PILOT 

especial favor; and a broken shell extractor 
was considered indispensable. 

Buttons and skeins of twine of various sizes 
went into the bag as a matter of course; but 
when the old hunter selected three packages, 
each containing a dozen yards of the kind of 
twisted wire used for hanging pictures of dif- 
ferent sizes, the boy burst out laughing and 
rolled on the blankets. He suspected Martin 
of trying to play off a quiet hoax on him, and 
did not intend to be caught in the trap. 

Nothing was farther from Martin’s 
thoughts, however, as Larry discovered when 
the use of the wire was explained. It was to 
be used for making the snares for catching 
small animals, particularly rabbits, the hunter 
said, and for that purpose was unequaled. 
And the old man assured him that for securing 
food on the march in a snow-bound country 
snares were far more useful than rifles. In- 
dian families in many northern regions de- 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 139 

pended almost entirely upon their snares for 
their supply of winter food. 

“ Rabbits are the bread and butter of the 
woodsman in the winter,” Martin said. ‘‘ The 
rabbits make little narrow paths in the snow — 
thousands of them, running in all directions — ■ 
and when they are not disturbed and going 
about their business, they always follow these 
paths. Now whn the rabbit comes to a fallen 
limb lying across his path a few inches gibove 
the ground, he likes to go under the limb 
rather than hop over it. This simplifies mat- 
ters for the Indian. He simply hangs his 
snare in front of the hole under the limb, and 
is almost sure to catch the first rabbit th?t 
comes hopping along that particular path. 

The snare is just a simple slip-noose made 
large enough to let the rabbit’s head pass 
through easily. If the wind is blowing the 
snare can be held open and in place by tying it 
with blades of dead grass, which are strong 


THE FOREST PILOT 


140 

enough to hold it in place until the rabbit gets 
his head through. 

‘‘ The other end of the snare string is tied 
to a limb that is bent down and fastened in a 
notch cut in a stick or a small sapling if it 
happens to be in the right place. The notch is 
cut deep enough to hold the bent limb, but not 
firmly enough but what it can be jerked loose 
pretty easily. 

“ Now when the rabbit comes hopping 
along the path and starts to go under the limb, 
he runs his head through the snare. When he 
feels something around his neck he pulls back 
to get out of its way ; but that tightens the noose 
about his neck, and he begins leaping about 
frantically to get loose. In this way he jerks 
the bent limb out of the notch that holds it 
down, the limb flies back, and swings him up 
into the air where he smothers in short order. 

‘‘ Of course if the snare was simply fastened 
to the limb over the path the rabbit would 


FINAL PREPARATIONS 141 

choke himself to death for a certainty, because 
he never stops pulling and tugging at the noose 
while he has a kick left in him. But then some 
fox or weasel would probably come along and 
get him. But neither of them will get him if 
he is dangling in the air: the weasel can’t 
reach him, and the fox is such a crafty fellow, 
always looking out for traps and tricks, that 
he won’t go near a dead rabbit hanging on a 
string, even if he is starving. 

Now that the snow has stopped falling 
the rabbits will be out to-night making paths, 
and to-morrow night we’ll put out some snares 
just for practice. I’ll teach you a dozen ways 
to make snares for different kinds of game, but 
the principle of all of them is the same as the 
one for catching Mr. Rabbit. And he’s the 
boy we’re interested in mostly.” 

The old hunter rose and went out to have 
a look at the snow,” as he put it. He came 
back well pleased with his inspection. 


142 


THE FOREST PILOT 


The crust will form and set hard to- 
night,” he said to Larry, “ and to-morrow 
you’ll begin your hardest and most important 
lesson — learning to walk on snow-shoes. You 
can look forward to taking some of the grand- 
est headers you have ever taken in your life,” 
he added, grinning. 

“ But — ” Larry began, and then stopped. 

“ ‘ But ’ what? ” Martin asked. 

“ Oh, nothing,” Larry answered evasively. 

I was just thinking of those headers that I 
am going to take to-morrow, that’s all.” 

Well, go to bed and dream about them 
then,” the old hunter instructed. 


CHAPTER VII 

THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST 


143 


0 



CHAPTER VII 


THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE FOREST 

“ My goodness, boy,” the old hunter said 
the next morning at breakfast, “ I do wish you 
could handle a pair of snow-shoes. We’d 
start for home to-morrow, if you could. For 
the crust is perfect, and the weather is settled 
for a spell I think. But there’s no use starting 
until we can make good time every hour, so 
we’ll spend another week letting you learn to 
use the snow-shoes, and getting the kinks out 
of your legs. 

Larry made no reply but munched his bacon 
and biscuit, occasionally handing a bit to Kim 
who sat near, watching expectantly. As soon 
as breakfast was finished, Martin brought our 
two pairs of snow-shoes and strapped one pair 
to his own feet, instructing Larry to follow 

145 


146 THE FOREST PILOT 

his example. Then he showed the boy how 
to take the swinging, gliding steps, sliding one 
shoe past the other with the peculiar leg mo- 
tion that shot the shoe ahead without getting 
tangled up with its mate. 

Now watch me while I run out to that 
tree and back, and try to do as I do when you 
start,” he instructed. And with that he struck 
out, the two dogs running beside him, barking 
excitedly, for they seemed to know the sig- 
nificance of snow-shoes, and were eager for a 
run through the woods. 

The tree Martin had indicated was about a 
hundred yards away, and the old hunter cov- 
ered the distance at top speed, exhilarated as 
a boy trying his skates on the first ice of the 
winter. He did not stop when the tree was 
reached, but turned sharply to one side so as 
to circle it. As he did so Larry passed the 
tree on the other side, running Ike a veteran, 
trying to beat him, and bursting with sup- 


THROUGH THE FOREST 147 

pressed laughter. I’ll race you to the top of 
the hill and back,” the boy shouted exultantly. 

But the old man, in his astonishment, 
bumped into a sapling and came to a full stop. 

Where in the world did you learn to use 
snow-shoes like that? ” he asked, when Larry 
had swung around to him. 

Oh, in the Adirondacks that winter,” 
Larry answered, trying to seem as if knowing 
how to use snow-shoes was the most ordinary 
thing in the world. 

But why didn’t you say so? ” Martin per- 
sisted, his face beaming, 

“ Well, you never asked me,” said Larry. 
I came within one of telling you last night, 
but I just thought I’d save it and surprise you.” 

Well, you sure did surprise me,” the old 
hunter said; “the very best surprise I have 
had since I can remember. Why, I woke up 
half a dozen times last night worrying be- 
cause we would have to wait so long because 


148 THE FOREST PILOT 

you had to learn to use the shoes before we 
could start. And here you knew how all the 
time. You can run like an Indan, Larry.” 

“ Well, I can run pretty good,” Larry ad- 
mitted modestly. “ I beat all the boys in the 
Christmas races up there last year, and one 
of them was an Indian boy, at that.” 

ril bet you did,” Martin exclaimed with 
admiration. “ Why, I was going at a pretty 
good clip myself just now, and yet you were at 
my heels. Face about and back to the tent we 
go, for now we have a new day’s work before 
us, and to-morrow we head for home.” 

Saying this Martin turned and ran for the 
camp, Larry doing his best to keep up ; but he 
finished twenty feet behind. It is one thing 
to beat a crowd of boys on snow-shoes, but 
quite another to have a competitor who could 
show his heels to every man in the whole 
North Country. 

And now everything was arranged exactly 


THROUGH THE FOREST 149 

as if they were making their start in earnest. 
The sledges were loaded with infinite care, 
and the dogs harnessed in their places, one dog 
to each toboggan. Larry was to have Kim 
under his charge, and to pull in harness with 
the dog ; for Kim was not only the stronger dog 
of the two, but also the one most easily man- 
aged. 

Martin had made harnesses for himself 
and Larry, with broad draw straps over the 
shoulders and across the chest, so that the 
weight, of the body was thrown into the har- 
ness as they bent forward in walking. The old 
hunter harnessed himself in front of his dog, 
so as to choose the course, set the pace, and 
break the trail all at the same time. But he in- 
structed Larry to harness himself next his 
toboggan and behind Kim. 

By this arrangement the old man worked out 
a shrewdly conceived plan. He knew that 
Kim would always strive to keep up with the 


150 


THE FOREST PILOT 


sled just ahead of him, for that is the nature 
of the malamoot when sledging. This would 
force the boy to keep up the pace, no matter 
how tired and leg weary he might be. At 
the same time it gave Larry the benefit of a 
thoroughly broken-out trail every step of the 
way — a thing the boy learned to appreciate 
within an hour. 

Before starting Martin built up a rousing 
fire to keep the camp kettle boiling, and then 
with a shout struck out into the forest. At 
first he went almost in a straight course, and 
at a pace that made Larry open his eyes in 
amazement. Was this the speed they would 
have to keep up hour after hour? Then the 
old man made wide circles, bending first one 
way and then the other, until they had been 
going about an hour and a half. Now he 
stopped and asked the panting, perspiring 
Larry, how he would take a short-cut to camp. 

Good gracious, I don’t know ! ” said the boy. 


THROUGH THE FOREST 151 

Well, I didn’t expect you would,” Martin 
said quietly; “ but I’m going to let you steer 
us back to it all the same. Take your compass 
and lead us straight northeast and you’ll land 
us there. It will be good practice for you. 
[And mind you, keep up the pace.” 

Larry now changed places with Kim, taking 
the lead as Martin had done, got out his corn- 
pass, and they were off again. The country 
was fairly open, so that while he was guided 
by the little instrument, he really steered by 
landmarks, as Martin had instructed him. 
Usually the landmark was some tree some 
distance away that stood exactly in line with 
the northeast mark indicated by the compass. 
This tree would then be the boy’s goal until 
he reached it, when some other mark further 
on would be selected. In this way the in- 
strument was only brought into use every half 
mile or so, a much easier method than con- 
stantly watching the dial. 


152 


THE FOREST PILOT 


The old hunter offered no suggestions 
about the route, he and Jack simply plod- 
ding along in the procession. But Larry, upon 
whom the brunt of everything had now fallen, 
had hard work to keep his flagging legs mov- 
ing along at a rate that would satisfy the 
members of his rear guard. He was surprised 
that they did not come across some marks of 
the trail they had made on the way out even 
after they had been plodding for a full three- 
quarters of an hour. This made him appre- 
hensive that Martin was letting him take them 
out of their course, for some reason of his own. 
He was astonished, therefore, suddenly to 
come in sight of their camp dead ahead, and 
not over a quarter of a mile away. The com- 
pass had given him a short-cut from Martin’s 
purposely bending course. 

As soon as, the dogs sighted the camp they 
began barking wildly and tugging at the traces 
in their eagerness to reach it; and Larry, whose 


THROUGH THE FOREST 153 

legs were flagging sadly, felt all weariness dis- 
appear in the excitement of finishing the run. 
So, shouting and laughing, with both dogs 
leaping and barking, the two teams raced into 
camp neck and neck. 

They rested a few minutes, and then began 
making final preparations for an early start 
the next day. They visited the yacht and 
found that she was packed thick in a huge 
bank of ice that had formed upon her, and 
been banked about her by the waves, so that 
she was practically frozen in for the winter. 
Then they strengthened all the fastenings of 
the canvas under which the provisions and sup- 
plies were stored, and Martin cut several 
strips of canvas and tied them with short pieces 
of rope to trees a few feet away and all about 
the heap, where they would blow about in the 
wind and frighten any inquisitive prowlers, 
particularly foxes. 

But what is the use of going to all that 


154 the forest pilot 

trouble, Martin?” Larry asked. “We will 
never come back to this place, and probably 
no one else will come here, so all this work 
is for nothing it seems to me.” 

The old hunter smiled and shook his head. 
“ That’s the way I should have talked at your 
age,” he said. “ But I have learned that many 
things in this world turn out very differently 
from what we expect, and so I always plan 
for the very worst that can possibly happen. 
And it will be a comfort for me to know that 
there is a big cache of supplies waiting here in 
case we have to come back, although I haven’t 
the faintest idea of doing so.” 

When the canvasses had been secured to 
Martin’s satisfaction he made the fastenings 
all about their camp secure in the same way. 
For he had decided not to take their present 
tent with them, but in its place a smaller one, 
made with a stout canvas bottom sewed fast to 
the rest of the tent, so that the whole thing re- 


THROUGH THE FOREST 155 

sembled a huge bag. There were several ad- 
vantages in this arrangement. It provided a 
dry, clean floor, kept the wind from creeping 
in, and obviated the likelihood of losing small 
articles at the camp site that might otherwise 
be overlooked and left behind on breaking 
camp. Moreover, it insured the tent not being 
blown from over their heads in a gale should 
the fastenings give way — a very important 
thing when passing through a barren, wind- 
swept country. 

Then they made a final inspection of the 
toboggan loads, unpacking them and re-pack- 
ing them carefully, Martin enjoining the boy 
to memorize every article and where it could 
be found on each sledge. This would save 
them much useless hunting, and overhauling, 
and disarranging of the loads. And so when 
night came they were all ready for the early 
start the next morning. 

At daylight they were oflf on their race for 


156 THE FOREST PILOT 

life — just how grim and serious an undertak- 
ing Larry was to learn before the day was over. 
For now it was plod, plod, plod, Martin set- 
ting the pace and breaking the trail, keeping 
up an even swing forward regardless of ob- 
stacles. Long before midday Larry realized 
the magnitude of their undertaking; for Mar- 
tin allowed no pause, no resting to catch up lost 
breath. It was on, and on, every step ahead 
being counted precious gain through the un- 
known stretch of wilderness. 

At noon they stopped, the dogs dropping in 
their tracks, and Larry stretched his aching 
legs on his load while Martin boiled a pot of 
tea and heated up their lunch. But in half an 
hour they were back in the harness again, 
trudging on silently. Even the dogs seemed 
to realize that they must do their utmost, 
straining at the traces all the time, with noses 
pointed straight ahead, but wasting no energy 
in useless looking about at interesting objects 


THROUGH THE FOREST 157 

along the trail as they had always done on their 
previous journeys. 

By the middle of the afternoon even the 
dogs showed signs of fatigue, as the loads were 
heavy, and despite every effort he could make, 
Martin’s speed was gradually slackening. By 
this time Kim was obliged to haul his load 
practically without aid from Larry, whose 
legs were tottering. Yet the boy pushed his 
feet ahead mechanically, watching the slowly 
descending sun, and hoping the old hunter 
would soon decide to stop for the night. But 
it was not until just before sunset that the 
old man halted and selected a place for their 
camp. 

His first provision for the night was to help 
Larry set up the tent; then he took his snares 
and went off into the woods to set them, in- 
structing Larry to get in a good supply of 
wood and a big heap of boughs for their 
bed. “ We can cook and eat after dark, you 


158 THE FOREST PILOT 

know,” he said, “ but these other things have 
to be done in daylight.” 

Fortunately for the boy boughs and wood 
were close at hand, for he was fagged and ex- 
hausted beyond expression. He knew what 
Martin had said to him about getting ac- 
customed to it in a few days ” was probably 
true, and this helped him keep up his cour- 
age; but there is a limit to muscular endur- 
ance even when backed by the highest quality 
of will-power. He managed to collect the 
wood and the boughs, however, by the time 
Martin returned, and the old man found him 
lying on the heap of boughs, sleeping the sleep 
of complete exhaustion. 

The six days following were practically 
repetitions of the first — a ceaseless grind of 
hard work through the timber. Martin, al- 
though a tough and seasoned veteran, began to 
show the effects of the strain, while Larry had 
become an automaton, who performed the 


THROUGH THE FOREST 159 

three functions of working, eating, and sleep- 
ing mechanically. There were no talks beside 
the camp-fire now before turning in, neither 
man nor boy having enough surplus energy 
left at the end of the day to indulge in more 
conversation than was absolutely necessary. 
Both had settled down to their grim work, 
more and more of which Martin had taken 
upon himself as they proceeded ; and every day 
the boy had reason to be thankful to the tough 
old woodsman for little acts of kindness and 
thoughtfulness. But his efforts left the old 
man too tired for useless conversation even if 
Larry had cared to listen. 

At noon on the seventh day the woods 
thinned out into scraggly trees, and an hour 
later the travelers emerged upon a flat, and ap- 
parently treeless plain. Here Martin called 
a hault and left Larry and the dogs while he 
took observations. In a few minutes he re- 


i6o THE FOREST PILOT 

turned, but instead of fastening on his harness 
he sat down beside Larry on the sled. 

“ It isn’t as bad as it might be,” he said, 
but it is bad enough, at that I can make 
out the outline of the fringe of trees on the 
other side from the top of a big rock over 
yonder, and I think it is only ten miles over 
to them. But I’m not sure, for distances are 
deceptive in this country. So we’ll camp 
here now and get an early start in the morn- 
ing.” 

Then he added, with a grim smile, “ I guess 
you won’t mind the six hours’ extra rest.” 

They made their camp accordingly in a 
clump of trees, and Larry and the dogs slept 
and rested, while the old hunter arranged for 
the next day’s run. This consisted in rear- 
ranging the loads, examining and mending 
harnesses and sled lashings, besides perform- 
ing Larry’s usual task of gathering wood and 
boughs, not rousing the tired boy until a hot 


THROUGH THE FOREST i6r 


supper was ready. And when Larry had 
gorged himself, Martin sent him back to his 
skeping bag to get more rest without wait- 
ing to help about cleaning up the supper pans 
and pots. 



CHAPTER VIII 


THE BLIZZARD 




CHAPTER VIII 


THE BLIZZARD 

Even after the dogs were harnessed and 
ready to start the following morning Martin 
hesitated. 

There’s a storm brewing,” he said. The 
moon and the stars showed it last night, and 
I can feel it in the air this morning. But we 
may be able to get across before it strikes us, 
and I suppose we’ve got to chance it.” 

To Larry the old hunter’s apprehensions 
seemed absurd. The sun was glaring brightly 
over the tree tops, and across the glistening 
crust of the open plain the trees on the other 
side could be seen as a low gray line, appar- 
ently close at hand. Surely those trees would 
be reached before any storm settled over this 
clear day. 


i66 THE FOREST PILOT 

The hauling was much easier, too, on the 
smooth, level crust, so different from the rough 
woodlands. Indeed, Larry’s toboggan seemed 
to move so lightly that the boy stopped and 
examined his load after he had been traveling 
a few minutes. He found, to his surprise, that 
fully half his load had been transferred to 
Martin’s toboggan. The discovery made his 
heart go out anew to the old man now rushing 
ahead in feverish haste over the crust, and he 
put every ounce of strength into keeping up 
the pace. 

At the end of two hours the gray line ahead 
had become broad and well-defined, while the 
line of trees behind them had dwindled to a 
low gray streak on the horizon. But mean- 
while the sun had turned to a dull red ball 
and the wind had shifted into their faces. It 
took no practiced eye now to see that a storm 
was approaching. But no one unfamiliar with 
an arctic blizzard could conceive the fury of 


THE BLIZZARD 167 

such a storm as the one that broke half an hour 
later. 

Squarely in their faces the wind struck them 
with such force that even the dogs turned 
instinctively to avoid it, and to shield them- 
selves from the cutting, sand-like snow that 
was driven before it. The temperature, too, 
dropped with inconceivable rapidity, and the 
cold penetrated Lary’s thick clothing so that 
his skin tingled despite the fact that he was 
exerting himself to the utmost, and a moment 
before had been hot from his efforts. He 
closed his eyes for a moment to shield them, 
and instantly the lashes were frozen together. 
Unable to proceed he turned his back to the 
blast to rub them open, and when he succeeded 
in doing so he found that Martin’s sledge was 
completely blotted out by the storm, so that he 
was not sure even of its location. 

In a panic he realized the seriousness of 
his situation and rushed forward in a fren- 


[i68 THE FOREST PILOT 

zied effort to overtake his leader, shouting as 
he struggled with the load. But his voice 
scarcely carried to the struggling Kim, being 
drowned in the howl of the storm. He still 
had enough command of his senses to remem- 
ber that the wind was blowing from dead 
ahead. But now, for some reason he did not 
understand, Kim refused to face the blast 
squarely, but persisted obstinately in turning 
almost at right angles to the left. In vain 
Larry shouted, and kicked at the dog in des- 
peration with his snow-shoe, but the wind 
caught the clumsy framework, tripping the 
boy face downward into the icy snow which 
cut and bruised his face. 

Choking and gasping for breath he strug- 
gled to his feet again now forcing his way 
forward blindly in the vague hope of stumbl- 
ing upon the elusive Martin. He was numb 
with the cold and exhausted by his violent 
efforts; and while he strove to face the blast. 


THE BLIZZARD 169 

he found himself turning instinctively from 
it, while Kim, with seeming perversity 
strained at the traces, first in one direction and 
then another. 

For a few minutes this struggle continued, 
and then a feeling of irresistible drowsiness 
came over the boy. Standing with his back to 
the wind he no longer felt the keen bite of the 
cold; and as he was able to accomplish 
nothing by trying to go forward, he crouched 
down behind the toboggan, mindful of Mar- 
tin’s oft-repeated instructions to keep mov- 
ing to avoid freezing, but too much overcome 
to heed it. 

Meanwhile the old hunter was in a far more 
distressed state of mind. When the storm 
struck he had turned and shouted to Larry to 
keep close to the tail of his toboggan, mean- 
while fumbling to get his compass from his 
pocket, for he knew that only the needle 
could hold him to his course. It was just at 


THE FOREST PILOT 


170 

this time that Larry’s lashes had frozen to- 
gether, and he had stopped to rub them open, 
so that he did not overtake Martin’s sledge as 
the old man expected. And when the old 
hunter looked up from fumbling with the 
compass a moment later, the storm had blotted 
out the boy completely. 

Instantly the old man brought his dog about 
to return to the other sled, which was at most 
thirty yards away; but the heavy load, clogged 
by the snow, moved slowly, and by the time 
he reached what he felt sure must be the spot 
where Larry had stood the boy had vanished. 
He was indeed only a few feet away, strug- 
gling desperately with Kim who instinctively 
was striving to reach the other toboggan ; but 
in that storm an object thirty feet away was 
as completely blotted out as if the interval 
had been miles instead of feet. 

Martin knew that in a very short time the 
boy, struggling aimlessly in the storm, would 


THE BLIZZARD 


171 

be overcome and frozen, and he realized that 
his chance of finding him was desperate, as 
he could neither hear nor see anything two 
yards ahead. His only hope lay in the sagacity 
of the dog. So without a moment’s hesitation 
at the terrible risk he was taking he cut the 
traces freeing the dog from his sled, and, 
leaving the load of precious supplies stand- 
ing where it was, sent the animal ahead, hold- 
ing the lease to restrain it Guided by the 
compass he began walking in narrowing 
circles, trusting to the dog to find its mate 
should they pass near it If he succeeded he 
could weather the storm by the aid of the sup- 
plies on the boy’s toboggan. If he failed? — 
well, the storm would shorten the end merci- 
fully ;*and the boy would have gone on before 
him. 

For half an hour he fought his circular 
course through the storm, Jack plodding 
ahead, crouched down to resist the blast 


THE FOREST PILOT 


172 

Then the animal suddenly straightened up on 
its legs, and plunged off to one side barking 
excitedly, and jerking Martin after him. A 
few short leaps brought them to where Larry 
lay curled down behind the toboggan. 

Kim, who had been curled up beside the 
boy, sprang up to meet his mate, jerking Larry 
about in his excitement, as they were still 
fastened together in harness. But even this 
violent shaking only roused the boy for a mo- 
ment, who dropped back into a doze im- 
mediately. 

The situation confronting Martin was des- 
perate. Larry was rapidly freezing, and as 
the nearest shelter of the woods was several 
miles away, it was useless to attempt to reach 
it. The only alternative was to try to make 
such shelter as he could with the supplies on 
Larry’s sled. Fortunately in distributing the 
packs the day before he had put the tent on 
Larry’s toboggan, and now he conceived a 


THE BLIZZARD 


173 

plan for using it, although it would be sheer 
madness to attempt to pitch it in a gale that 
almost blew the dogs off their feet at times. 

First of all he pulled out Larry’s fur sleep- 
ing bag and, crouching behind the load, man- 
aged to get the stupified boy into it, twisting 
the top of the bag over his head so that the 
boy’s own breath would help warm him. 
Then he took out the tent, standing with his 
back to the blast and with the toboggan load 
in front of him, he gradually worked it over 
one end of the load and under the sled. 

It will be remembered that this tent was 
made with the floor cloth sewn firmly to the 
side walls so that it was in effect a great bag. 
Martin worked the opening of this bag around 
the sled, fighting fiercely against the gale, and 
then forced the sled into the bottom, turning 
it at rght angles to the wind. In this way he 
formed a barrier on the inside of the low tent. 
Then he pushed Larry in his sleeping bag in- 


THE FOREST PILOT, 


174 

side, and he and the dogs crawled in and hud- 
dled together. Next he gathered together the 
loose edges of the opening of the tent and tied 
them with the guy ropes, thus shutting out the 
storm on every side and amply protected on 
the side where the wind was fiercest by the 
loaded sled. 

The old hunter, accustomed to severe cold, 
and heated by his exertions, was warm and 
comfortable for the moment, at least, in this 
nest; and the dogs found their lodgings so 
agreeable that they licked the snow from be- 
tween their toes, and soon curled up for a nap. 
But Larry still remained motionless, and when 
Martin felt inside the bag he found his face 
cold. Evidently the little warmth left in the 
boy’s body was not sufficient to warm him 
back to life, even in the sleepng bag. 

Closing the bag again to retain what 
warmth there was inside, Martin ripped open 
the lacings of the sled, and fumbling about 


THE BLIZZARD 


175 

found Larry’s tin cup, a tin plate, and the little 
box containing the cubes of “ solid alcohol.” 
Placing one of these on the bottom of an over- 
turned tin plate the old hunter struck a match 
and lighted it, keeping the dish between his 
outspread knees to prevent the dogs knocking 
against it, and using his rifle as a tent pole to 
raise the canvas as high as possible. It was 
a hazardous thing to do, as they were all 
crowded into a space so small there was 
scarcely room for all of them to curl up to- 
gether, to say nothing of space for starting a 
fire. But Larry’s case was desperate: Martin 
must find some way of warming him. And 
even a very tiny flame in that closely packed 
space would soon do this. 

As the little blue flame grew larger and 
flickered upwards, the dogs instinctively drew 
away from it, crowding close to the tent walls, 
in this way leaving Martin a little more elbow 
room. It also gave him an opportunity care- 


176 THE FOREST PILOT 

fully to work loose part of the fastening so as 
to make an opening a few inches long on the 
leeward side of the tent for ventilation. For 
as the tent cloth was practically air tight the 
flame and the breath from four pairs of lungs 
quickly made the atmosphere stifling. But 
Martin did not wait for this warmth alone to 
start up the boy’s flagging circulation. He 
scooped a tin cup full of snow, reaching 
through the ventilating slit, and holding this 
over the flame, melted and warmed it. 

Each little cube was supposed to burn for 
ten minutes, and give out an amount of heat 
entirely disproportionate to its size. But the 
first cube had burned itself out and a second 
one was half consumed before Martin secured 
half a cup of steaming hot water. Meanwhile 
Larry had not roused, although his face was 
warmer and he was breathing more naturally. 
A few sips of the hot water forced between 
his lips, however, roused him quickly; and 


THE BLIZZARD 


177 

by the time he had swallowed the contents of 
the cup the color had come back to his cheeks. 

The hot water warmed his tingling body 
like magic, and by the time the third cube was 
burned out his cheeks were pink and even the 
tips of his fingers warm. But Martin was not 
satisfied with this. He dug out some lumps of 
pemmican, heated them in the flame, and fed 
him the bits as they became warm, occasion- 
ally taking a mouthful himself, and giving 
some to the dogs as a reward for good behav- 
ior. By the time the last cube had burned it- 
self out they had all made a hearty meal, and 
Larry was feeling like himself again, warm 
and comfortable in the fur bag. 

But now Martin found himself in a 
dilemma. His own sleeping bag was some- 
where on his sled lost in the blizzard; and 
while his clothing was warm, he soon realized 
that it would not be enough protection to keep 
him from freezing in a few hours, now that 


178 THE FOREST PILOT 

the cubes were all gone. There was only one 
thing to be done: he must wedge himself in 
beside the boy and share his warm bag until 
the storm subsided. Luckily for him the bag 
was a full-sized one like his own. So that by 
dint of much wriggling and squeezing he 
managed to crawl in beside the boy and pull 
the folds over his head, although it was such 
a tight fit that neither of them could move 
when it was finally accomplished. 

They were warm, however, and other dis- 
comforts were a minor consideration. And in 
a few moments all hands were sleeping soundly 
while the storm raged about their little tent. 
All the rest of that day and well into the 
night it roared incessantly. Then graually it 
began to abate in fury, and finally “ blew it- 
self out ” as Martin said. By sunrise there was 
scarcely a breath of air stirring, but every- 
thing creaked and sparkled in the cold. 

Getting out of the bag proved to be almost 


THE BLIZZARD 


179 

as hard a task as getting into it, but the old 
hunter finally worked his arms free and then 
crawled out, pulling the boy after him. Both 
were stiff and lame from lying in the cramped 
position, but they were soon limbered up by 
dancing about to keep warm while they 
gnawed at the frozen pemmican and packed 
the sled. 

Fortunately the fury of the wind had swept 
the plain clear of new snow as fast as it had 
fallen on the glassy crust, so that the few eleva- 
tions on its surface were easily seen. One of 
these a quarter of a mile away proved to be 
Martin’s sled, clear of snow on the wind- 
ward side, with a long pointed bank slanting 
off to leeward. So that in half an hour’s 
time they had recovered it, harnessed the 
dogs, and were making their way as quickly 
as possible to the edge of the woods for 
which they were aiming the day be- 
fore. 


i8o THE FOREST PILOT 

The distance proved to be short — only a 
scant three miles. But Larry was still weak, 
and was tottering and almost exhausted when 
they finally wallowed through the snow- 
banks at the edge of the great spruce forest. 
He had said nothing to Martin of his weak- 
ness, but the old man had been watching him 
out of the corner of his eye and was well 
aware of his condition. 

[As soon as they reached an open space 
among the trees, therefore, Martin stopped 
and made a roaring fire, while Larry sat on 
his sled and rested, watching the old man 
brewing tea and cooking a hot meal. His 
legs ached and his head swam a little, al- 
though he was beginning to feel more like his 
old self by the time their breakfast was over. 
But the thought of the weary hours of toil 
through the woods was almost intolerable; 
and he was ready to cry for joy when Mar- 
tin announced that he was going to look 


THE BLIZZARD 


;i8i. 

around for a camp,” leaving the boy to toast 
his shins by the fire. “ And I may find some- 
thing to shoot while I’m looking,” the old 
hunter added as he started on his search. 

In half an hour Martin returned fairly 
beaming at his success. He had found no 
game, but he had stumbled upon a camping 
place which he announced was “ the best in 
all Canada.” And these woods are full of 
game, too,” he added. 

The camping place which Martin had 
discovered was indeed an ideal, as well as 
a very unusual one. It was a natural ex- 
cavation under the south side of an over- 
hanging ledge of rock which was so pro- 
tected from the wind that only a thin layer 
of snow covered its rock floor. A roaring 
fire built at the entrance warmed the hol- 
lowed out space like a great room, and Larry 
found that the old hunter had started such a 
fire and left it to warm things up while he 


i 82 the forest pilot 

returned for the toboggans. It seemed a 
sylvan paradise to the exhausted boy. 

The hunter watched the boy slyly as they 
stood in the warm glow by the fire. “ Per- 
haps you’d rather go on than to stop here 
over to-morrow,” he suggested with a twinkle 
in his eye. 

For answer the boy threw off' his heavy 
coat, went over to his toboggan, and began 
unfastening Kim and unpacking his load. 
And Martin with a little laugh followed his 
example. 

“ You’ll stay and keep house to-morrow,” 
he explained as he worked, while I go out 
and have a try at some of this fresh meat that 
is running loose around here. We need a 
supply to take the place of what we’ve 
eaten in the last week, and I never saw a 
likelier place for getting it, judging by the 
signs.” 

All the afternoon the tireless old man 


THE BLIZZARD 183 

worked laying in a supply of fuel and making 
things snug, not allowing the boy to help, but 
making him tend camp ” lying on a pile of 
warm furs beside the fire. 


? 


CHAPTER IX 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 











CHAPTER IX 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 

Early the next morning Martin roused 
Larry for breakfast. The old man had been 
up an hour and was ready to start on his hunt 
as soon as breakfast was finished, but he had 
let the boy sleep as long as possible. While 
they ate Martin gave Larry final instructions 
as to what he was to do during the day. 

Rest all you can,” he instructed, and 
don’t go far from camp under any circum- 
stances. Don’t let the dogs loose even for a 
minute. It isn’t likely that they would wan- 
der off, but they might get started after a 
rabbit and wind up chasing caribou or fight- 
ing wolves. Anyhow don’t give them a 
chance.” 


187 


THE FOREST PILOT 


i88 

At the mention of wolves the boy looked 
anxious. ^‘What if the wolves came near 
here — came right up to the camp and wanted 
to fight Jack and Kim? ” he asked. 

The old man pointed to the little rifle 
standing against the wall. “ Give ’em the 
thirty-eight,” he said. “But they won’t come 
very near,” he added. “ They’ll be howling 
around in the distance of course, because they 
will scent our cooking. But at worst they 
wouldn’t dare come near until night; and I’ll 
be here by that time. And always remember 
this: a wolf is a coward; and your thirty- 
eight will knock dead in his tracks the biggest 
wolf that ever lived. Just keep the little gun 
strapped on you all day and you won’t be 
afraid or feel lonesome. Next to a man a gun 
is the most comforting companion in the 
world.” 

Larry followed Martin’s instructions al- 
most to the letter. He strapped on the gun 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 189 

and loafed about the camp-fire all the long 
forenoon, varying the monotony by patting 
and talking to the dogs, who lolled luxuri- 
ously beside the fire where Martin had tied 
them with double leashes. By noon the 
period of idleness palled on the boy who had 
entirely recovered from the exhaustion of the 
day before. So he took his axe and spent a 
couple of hours gathering fuel although Mar- 
tin’s huge pile was still more than sufficient 
for another day. 

!At intervals he heard wolves howling at z 
distance, but that had now become a familiar 
sound, and he paid little attention to it. 
When the sun was only an hour high he be- 
gan getting supper ready, keeping a sharp 
lookout for Martin who might appear at any 
minute. He had planned an unusually elab- 
orate meal to surprise and cheer the old man 
when he returned, and he was so occupied 
with the work that he was oblivious to every- 


THE FOREST PILOT 


190 

thing else, until the dogs startled him by 
springing up, bristling and snarling fiercely. 
Thinking that they had scented or sighted the 
returning hunter Larry ran out to look for 
him, shouting a welcome. But there was no 
sign of the old man. * 

In dismay he noticed that the sun was just 
setting, and on looking through the trees in 
the direction indicated by the dogs’ attitude 
he saw the silhouettes of four huge, gaunt 
wolves skulking among the trees. The odor 
of his elaborate cooking had reached them, 
and as night was coming on they were em- 
boldened to approach. 

The sight of the great creatures snarling 
and snapping in the gloomy shadows made 
the goose flesh ” rise on the boy’s skin. And 
while the presence of the dogs was a com- 
fort, their attitude was not reassuring. They 
pulled and strained at their leashes, bristling 
and growling, but sometimes whining as if 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 1911 


realizing that in a pitched battle they would 
be no match for the four invaders. 

The realization that he was utterly alone in 
the great wilderness with darkness at hand, 
and a pack of wolves howling at his open door 
made the boy chill with terror. Instinctively 
he sought shelter behind the fire near the Hogs, 
who welcomed him with appreciative whines. 
They looked upon him as a protector, and 
their faith helped his courage. Martin’s in- 
structon to give ’em the thirty-eight ” also 
cheered him, and he took out the little gun 
and prepared for battle. 

Every wolf is a coward,” the old hunter 
had said ; but these wolves were not acting like 
cowards at all. They did not rush forward 
boldly, it was true, but they were stealthily 
drawing nearer, snarling and bristling. They 
would stand pawing and sniffing the snow for 
a few moments as if the object of their visit 
was entirely forgotten. Then one of them 


THE FOREST PILOT 


192 

would suddenly spring forward two or three 
short steps, and the whole crew would stand 
snapping their jaws and glaring savagely at 
the camp. In this way they were deliberately 
closing in upon it. 

This method of approaching by short rushes 
was most disconcerting and terrifying, and 
several times Larry decided to open fire with- 
out waiting for the wolves to emerge from the 
shelter of the trees. But each time his better 
judgment restrained him. 

When they had approached to within the 
circle of the nearest trees, however, he decided 
to act. Holding some cartridges in his left 
hand for quick loading, as Martin had taught 
him, he knelt beside the fire, rested his elbow 
on his knee, and tried to take careful aim. 
But his hand trembled, and his heart pounded 
so hard, that the sights of his rifle bobbed all 
about the mark he had selected. The more he 
tried to steady the rifle the more it seemed to 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 


193 

waver and dance about, so that he knew it 
would be useless to fire. 

At that moment the story of Weewah, the 
Indian boy, flashed into his mind — the little 
savage who fought with a hatchet, while he, 
the white boy, had his hard-hitting rifle and 
plenty of cartridges. He lowered the gun for 
a moment, and steadied himself with a few 
deep breaths, shutting his eyes and summon- 
ing all his courage. When he opened them 
he found that his hand was steadier and 
the pounding in his breast had almost 
ceased. 

Meanwhile the wolves had spread out form- 
ing a restless semicircle before the camp. 
There were three gray ones, and one huge 
fellow almost pure white. Larry selected this 
white one for his first victim. Resting his 
elbow again on his knee he took careful aim, 
waiting for the flestless wolf to pause for an 
instant. The moment the huge animal stopped 


THE FOREST PILOT 


194 

to snarl fiercely at the camp, Larry pressed the 
trigger and fired. 

At the sound of the report three of the 
wolves gave a startled leap sidewise, and then 
crouched forward again as they recovered 
from their surprise. But the white wolf sank 
in the snow where it stood, and lay still : the 
little bullet had knocked him dead in his 
tracks ” sure enough. With a gulp of exulta- 
tion Larry slipped in a fresh cartridge and 
aimed carefully at a wolf that was a little in 
advance of the other two. Again his aim was 
true; but this wolf did not drop silently as had 
the white one. Instead he gave a howl of pain 
and rolled in the snow, turning it red all about 
him in his death struggles. 

The other two wolves had leaped back at the 
flash and sound of the rifle as before. But at 
the sight and smell of their companion’s blood 
they rushed upon him, tearing and gashing 
him in their lust, and sucking his blood 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 19? 

ravenously. Jack and Kim, made frantic by 
the struggle, added their furious but impotent 
howls to the uproar in their frenzied efforts 
to free themselves. While Larry, forgetful 
of personal danger in the excitement, sprang 
up and approached the struggling group, 
meanwhile inserting a fresh cartridge, and 
despatched the third wolf as he crouched 
wallowing in his companion’s blood. 

The remaining wolf had paid no attention 
to the report that struck down his mate; but 
now as the boy paused to take careful aim, the 
huge creature, maddened by the taste of blood, 
turned suddenly and rushed upon him. There 
was no time to retreat, even if Larry had 
wished to do so. But he had no such intention, 
for the hot blood of fighting ancestors was 
now surging through his veins. With the 
coolness of a veteran the boy aimed and fired 
just as the gray monster shot through the air in 
his final spring toward him. The next instant 


196 THE FOREST PILOT 

his coat sleeve was ripped open clean to the 
shoulder by the furious snap of the animal’s 
jaws, and he was knocked headlong by the 
impact of the creature’s body. 

Fortunately for him his bullet had found its 
mark, breaking the wolf’s back just as the 
animal leaped from the ground, and thus 
diverting the aim of its deadly jaws, while the 
force of its spring knocked Larry out of the 
wounded creature’s reach. Its hind legs were 
paralyzed and useless, but its jaws snapped 
viciously as it struggled to reach its foe on its 
fore legs. 

The boy was up in an instant, maddened by 
his fall, and full of fight Without trying to 
recover his gun which had fallen several feet 
away, he rushed to the pile of fire-wood, seized 
a heavy club, and brought it down again and 
again on the head of the crippled beast, until 
he had pounded out the last spark of life. 
Then, when it was all over, he stood trembling 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 197 

and weak, overcome by his efforts and the ex- 
citement. 

'A moment later he ran to the dogs and, re- 
gardless of Martin’s orders, turned them loose. 
He wanted them to share his victory, and 
stood laughing and gulping hysterically as he 
watched them rush upon the lifeless victims, 
and tear and maul them with wolfish ferocity. 
It was no fault of theirs that they had not 
shared the fight, and they vented their 
animosity by rushing from one victim to an- 
other, jerking the limp carcasses about, and 
shaking them like rats. 

Meanwhile it had grown dark; and still no 
sign of Martin. For a little time after the 
battle Larry had stood forgetful of the old 
man’s absence, reveling in the thought of the 
story he should have to tell. But presently he 
realized the seriousness of his position. He 
no longer feared for his own safety: he and his 
little gun could tend camp ” against all 


198 THE FOREST PILOT 

comers he felt sure. But what was keeping 
Martin away so long? 

He consoled himself with the thought that 
probably the old man had followed some 
game trail farther than he intended and was 
unable to get back before nightfall. So when 
the dogs had tired themselves out worrying 
the dead wolves, Larry tied them up and ate 
his cheerless supper. This revived his spirits 
a little, and he put into effect a plan he had 
made for surprising Martin. For this purpose 
he dragged the carcasses of the wolves to- 
gether and covered them with boughs so that 
the old man would not notice them when he 
returned. At the right time the boy would tell 
his story and revel in Martin’s astonish- 
ment. 

Then he built up a roaring fire, crawled into 
his sleeping bag and tried to sleep. But after 
two hours of restless tossing about, his mind 
filled with gloomy forebodings, he got up and 


THE TIMBER WOLVES 199 

seated himself beside the fire for his long 
vigil. 

It was a terrible night for the boy. The 
thought that Martin might have been injured, 
or even killed, kept obtruding itself, and he 
shuddered at the awful consequences of such a 
calamity. He reassured himself over and over 
by the more probable explanation that the old 
man had gone farther from camp than he 
intended. But the other possibility could not 
be banished from his thoughts. And so he sat 
before his roaring fire, a big dog snuggling 
against him on either side, comforting his 
loneliness. 




CHAPTER X 

THE WOUNDED MOOSE 


201 



CHAPTER X 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 

In this way he passed the long, terrible 
hours of the night But as soon as it began to 
grow light he untied the dogs, and took a 
circle of several miles through the woods, hop- 
ing that he might find some trace of the miss- 
ing hunter. But he remembered the old 
man’s instruction that he was not to leave the 
camp to go any very great distance, and after 
two hours of futile search he returned in 
despair. 

The dogs, seeming to realize that something 

was wrong, were alert to every unusual sound ; 

and when Larry would spring up and peer 

through the trees expectantly, they would leap 

about and bark excitedly. But the sun rose 
203 


THE FOREST PILOT 


204 

higher and higher, and still Martin did not 
come. 

!At last the boy could stand the suspense no 
longer. In defiance of Martin’s explicit in- 
structions he decided to leave the camp and try 
to find him. The thought that the old man 
must have been injured, or taken ill, kept forc- 
ing itself into the boy’s mind. An experienced 
hunter like Martin would not lose his way; 
and moreover, if he should become confused, 
he would still have his own trail to follow back 
to camp ; for this trail was well marked in the 
snow. In any event, Larry could not remain 
inactive any longer with these terrible fears 
tearing at his heart. 

So he harnessed the dogs tandem to one of 
the empty toboggans, strapped on his snow- 
shoes, and started out following Martin’s trail 
of the day before. At first he took the lead, 
running at top speed; but presently he found 
that, since the trail had been broken out by 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 205 

Martin, he could make better time by letting 
the dogs haul him on the toboggan. His 
weight was so much less than the load they 
were accustomed to haul that now they ran 
along the trail at high speed, following Mar- 
tin’s tracks without any guiding instructions. 

For two hours they went forward, Kim 
leading, his nose close to the snow, and both 
dogs keenly alert. The tracks wound in and 
out among the thickets, indicating where Mar- 
tin had explored likely looking places for 
game, but their general direction was toward 
the southwest, the course the old hunter had 
said he should take. Once the snow-shoe trail 
had followed the track of a deer for half a 
mile; but evidently the animal was not over- 
taken, for presently they found where Martin 
turned off into his original course again. 

By noon the dogs had begun to slacken their 
pace a little, and Larry, thoroughly dis- 
couraged, had decided that he would retrace 


206 


THE FOREST PILOT 


his course, when they reached the crest of a 
low hill a short distance ahead, which seemed 
to command a view of the country for some 
distance around. If nothing could be seen of 
Martin from this hill, he would face about and 
return to camp; and more than likely he 
should find the old man there waiting for him. 
Hardly had he reached this decision, however, 
when Kim stopped so suddenly that Jack and 
the toboggan bumped into him, and stood with 
bristling hair and stiffened muscles for a mo- 
ment, and then made a frantic leap forward, 
snarling and barking. 

At the same time Jack seemed to have dis- 
covered the cause of his mate’s excitement, 
and it was only by twisting the sled rope about 
a sapling that Larry prevented them from 
dashing madly off into the woods. Yet he was 
unable to discover the cause of their actions, 
although he peered intently through the trees 
in all directions. But whatever the cause, he 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 207 

knew that they had scented something quite 
out of the ordinary; and as a precaution he 
drew the little rifle from its case and made 
sure that the firing-pin was set for the heavy 
cartridge. 

Then he took a firm grip on Kim’s collar, 
putting all his weight against the dog’s 
strength, and advanced cautiously through the 
trees toward the top of the hill. 

The crest of this hill had been cleared of 
large timber years before by a forest fire, and 
there was an open space for several hundred 
yards beyond. When Larry reached this 
cleared space he saw a sight that made his 
heart leap into his throat and his hair seem to 
lift his cap. His hand trembled so violently 
that he came near dropping his rifle, and his 
breathing ceased altogether for a moment. 

For at the opposite side of the clearing stood 
a huge animal, tall and gaunt, its thick neck 
supporting a head like a great black barrel 


2o8 


THE FOREST PILOT 


crowned with a pair of thickly pointed horns 
that seemed as long as the toboggan from tip to 
tip. The great creature stood facing him, the 
long, coarse hair about its head and neck 
standing out straight, its fore legs wide apart, 
its hind legs slightly bent ready for a spring 
forward. All about it for a space of several 
yards the snow was trampled into a hard bed 
and blotched with blood. 

In the center of this trampled space was a 
huge boulder, and just beside it a sapling per- 
haps six inches in diameter. Perched on the 
top of the boulder and only a few inches out 
of reach of the great antlers, old Martin lay 
huddled. Or, to be more exact, what appeared 
to be a bundle of Martin’s clothes that looked 
as if they might have been hurled there by the 
infuriated animal. The mystery of the old 
man’s failure to return to camp was explained. 

At the sight of the huge animal so close at 
hand the dogs became absolutely frantic; and 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 209 

knowing that it would be folly to try to control 
them further, and wishing to give them every 
possible advantage in the fight that was now 
inevitable, the boy slipped the harness from 
each. 

As the dogs bounded toward the wounded 
animal, the moose sprang forward to meet 
them, snorting fiercely; but in doing this the 
heavy creature put itself at once at a dis- 
advantage. For its hoofs broke through the 
crust at every step, while the dogs kept their 
footing on the surface, darting in and out, 
snapping fiercely at legs and flank. 

The noise of this battle roused Martin from 
the stupor into which he had fallen, so that 
he raised his head, and then gradually dragged 
himself into a sitting posture. Then, as he 
recognized the dogs, and saw Larry hurrying 
forward new life thrilled the old man, and he 
began waving his hand and shouting feebly to 
the boy. 


210 


THE FOREST PILOT 


At first his voice was so low that the boy 
could not hear it above the din; but as he ap- 
proached the rock, waiting for a favoring 
moment to place his one shot in some vital 
spot, he could make out some of Martin’s 
instructions shouted through his trumpeted 
hands. 

“ Steady, boy, steady! ” the old man shouted. 

Wait till he turns his head, and shoot be- 
tween the eyes I Not now — wait till he turns — 
not yet — I” 

Just then the moose, frantic with pain and 
anger, caught sight of the boy approaching 
him. At this discovery the huge animal 
seemed to forget the dogs, and wheeling, made 
straight for Larry, head down, bristles stand- 
ing, and bloody foam blowing from its nose 
and mouth. 

Shoot! Shoot! For God’s sake shoot, 
Larry!” the old man screamed, half rising, 
and then toppling back upon the rock. 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 21 1 


But Larry needed no instructions. He had 
proved himself and his weapon only yesterday, 
and he had the courage born of experience. 
The first terror inspired by the huge animal 
had passed, and now he stood with his feet 
braced wide apart on his snow-shoes, the rifle 
at his shoulder and his eye fixed on the little 
bead of the front sight as the huge animal 
plunged toward him. Kim and Jack, realiz- 
ing the impending danger to their master, 
buried their teeth in the moose’s flanks on 
either side and hung on grimly causing the 
animal to pause momentarily. This was 
Larry’s chance. There was a flash and report, 
and the big animal, rearing upwards and sink- 
ing on its hind legs, plunged sidelong into the 
snow and lay still. The heavy steel-jacketed 
bullet had crashed into its brain, killing it 
instantly. 

Before the huge head fairly reached the 
ground both dogs were at the animal’s throat. 


212 


THE FOREST PILOT 


tearing and mangling, mad with the lust of 
battle. Larry, reacting from the tense excite- 
ment, felt his knees sag under him as he 
realized the result of the shot. But even this 
did not make him forget to load his gun again 
instantly — a thing that becomes automatic 
with the hunter — and approach the beast 
cautiously, ready for another shot. But the 
dogs, with fangs buried in the creature’s 
throat, gloating in the hot blood, bore silent 
witness that more shots were unnecessary. 

Then Larry’s pent-up emotions found ex- 
pression in a wild shout as he rushed to where 
old Martin lay. 

But his feeling changed to dread apprehen- 
sion when he reached the base of the rock, saw 
where the blood had trickled down over the 
side, and found that the old man had fallen 
back unconscious. Perhaps his triumph had 
come too late after all! In an instant he had 
kicked off his snow-shoes, climbed the sapling 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 213 

that rose beside the rock, and was kneeling 
over the still, crumpled figure, his warm hands 
caressing the white cheeks, his voice choked 
with emotion. 

His warm touch revived the hunter, who 
opened his eyes slowly, and then smiled faintly 
up at the boy. 

I’ll be all right in a minute,” the old fel- 
low whispered ; “ get me off this rock and 
build a fire, quick. I’m frozen.” 

But getting the injured hunter off the rocks 
without hurting him proved a difficult task. 
The sides were almost perpendicular, and 
Martin too weak to help himself at all. So, 
after several futile attempts, Larry was 
obliged to get the harnesses from the toboggan, 
fasten the draw strap under the hunter’s arms, 
and in this manner lower him over the side. 
Then the boy quickly gathered some sticks and 
made a hot fire. 

During most of this time Martin remained 


THE FOREST PILOT 


214 

inanimate, but he revived again when Larry 
had dragged him near the fire; and now he 
asked faintly for water. A few gulps of the 
melted snow water f^om Larry’s cup revived 
him perceptibly, and meanwhile the boy was 
chafing his cold hands, and had removed his 
moccasins and drawn his feet close to the 
fire. 

Presently Martin asked feebly for food; but 
Larry shook his head. For once he had for- 
gotten one of the old man’s reiterated instruc- 
tions — that he should never go anywhere from 
camp without taking at least one ration with 
him. When he started out he had only ex- 
pected to be gone a few hours, and in his 
perturbation he had forgotten to take anything 
to eat. 

But the old hunter’s wits had not completely 
failed him. 

“ The moose,” he said faintly. 

And then the boy remembered that a 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 21 i 

month’s supply of food, upon which the dogs* 
were still feasting, was lying only a few feet 
away. So in a few minutes he had a huge 
slice of moose steak suspended on a stick over 
the fire, from which he cut off thin strips and 
fed to the ravenous hunter. 

During this process he had time to observe 
the nature of Martin’s injury, although he was 
not quite sure of its exact location, as the 
hunter’s clothes were rent and blood-stained 
in many places. 

“ It’s my left leg,” Martin said, interpreting 
the boy’s anxious expression. It’s all ripped 
to pieces. But it was the cold that was killing 
me. Now I’m getting warm and feeling 
stronger every minute. In another half hour 
I’ll be ready to take a ride home with you 
while the sun is high.” 

By the time the steak was consumed Martin 
was sitting up, taking sips of hot water out of 
the tin cup from time to time. Every move- 


2i6 


THE FOREST PILOT 


ment caused him great pain, but he strove 
stoically to conceal this from the boy. 

‘‘ Harness up the dogs,” he said presently, 
pack me into the toboggan, and let’s start 
for camp. We haven’t any time to lose, for it 
gets cold on a sled when the sun goes down.” 

So Larry called the dogs, who were loth to 
leave their feast, packed the old man into the 
bag on the toboggan so that only his head 
showed above the flaps, and started. 

Several times he had tried to get the old 
hunter to tell him how it had all happened; 
but Martin put him ofif, assuring him that 
there would be plenty of time for talking when 
they were back in camp again. 

Once the start was made there was no chance 
for talking, all Larry’s energies being re- 
quired to keep the now lazy dogs up to their 
usual speed. And now he realized the wisdom 
of not feeding them until their day’s work was 
done, as v^as Martin’s inflexible rule. He was 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 217 

kept busy steering the toboggan around rough 
places that would jar his passenger, as the old 
man’s excruciating pain was accentuated by 
every additional shock. Yet Martin would not 
consider stopping, or even slackening the pace; 
and as the dogs warmed to their work after 
the first few miles they were able to make the 
camp just as the sun was setting, all hands 
ready to drop from exhaustion. 

They found Larry’s big fire still burning, 
and in a few minutes he had warmed up the 
remains of the feast he had planned for the 
night before. Then, when he had wrapped up 
the injured leg, and propped the old hunter 
in a comfortable position before the fire, Mar- 
tin was ready to tell his story. 

‘‘ Don’t you mind now, and look scared 
whenever I screw up my face,” the old man 
began; “ for the pain shoots around pretty bad 
at times. But I’ll stand it all right, and I’ll 
kill many a bull moose to pay for it, too,” 


2i8 the forest pilot 

Then he chuckled softly in the old familiar 
manner. 

“ What makes me laugh,” he said, is to 
think that all this time I have been letting you 
think that I am something of a hunter, trying 
to show you how to kill game ; and here you 
go out and kill the moose that came mighty 
near killing me. This is how it all hap- 
pened : 

I came across signs of game after I had 
left the camp about an hour, and the signs 
were good too; but still I didn’t get sight of 
anything, and I kept going right on until well 
after noon. So I decided to turn about and 
take the back track home, feeling sure that 
I should have better luck on the way in. 
Sure enough, when I came near the place 
where you found me, I found where a moose 
had floundered along through the snow, prob- 
ably scared from some yard by my scent as I 
passed. He was standing near the big rock 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 219 

and as the wind was blowing toward me, he 
hadn’t discovered me. 

“ So I worked around to get the rock be- 
tween us, and then I sneaked up so as to get a 
close shot and make sure of him. I ought to 
have tried a longer shot at him, but you see the 
.38-40 is a pretty small cartridge for moose ex- 
cept at close range, and I intended to get him, 
sure. 

“ I sneaked along until I was right behind 
the rock, and then I stepped out and shot point 
blank for his head. But just at the very second 
I pulled the trigger the old rascal had to jerk 
his head about six inches to one side, so that the 
bullet ploughed deep into his neck, just where 
it would hurt and make him mad, but nothing 
more. 

And then all the trouble happened in 
about three seconds. I jerked down the lever 
to throw in another cartridge, for he was com- 
ing right at me. But Jumping Jee-rusalemI 


220 


THE FOREST PILOT 


if the old gun didn’t jam. The head of the 
empty shell had broken off and stuck in the 
chamber! I didn’t have any time for investi- 
gating, for the bull was right on top of me, so 
I just jumped for the side of that rock. Noth- 
ing but a fly could have gone up it — without 
help ; and I knew that then as well as I do now. 
But I hadn’t any choice. And the curious 
thing is that the old moose himself furnished 
the help. 

He was so close to me when I jumped that 
one of his points caught my leg and ripped it 
open as he went along; but at the same time he 
flung his head up and threw me clean up the 
side of the rock. So by the time he could stop 
and turn around I was up out of his reach. 
But I was his meat, all the same. All he had 
to do was to sit down and wait long enough and 
I’d freeze or starve to death. 

‘‘ He had no notion of waiting, though, — 
that is, not at first. He planned to come right 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 221 


up there and finish the job. But you see he 
didn’t have any friend around to hook him in 
the leg and give him a boost as I had, so he 
couldn’t make it. He tried for a full hour, 
getting madder and madder every minute, 
snorting and pawing up the snow, and then 
coming back for another try at me. And there 
I had to sit and take it, with my gun lying 
down below in the snow. 

Pretty soon I saw that the old scoundrel 
had settled down for a regular siege. He gave 
up trying to reach me, but he never took his 
eyes off me, and just walked ’round and ’round 
that rock hoping I’d come down. I’ll bet he 
made that circle a thousand times in two hours. 

I thought when night came that he would 
start off and give it up, and several times he 
did go away behind a clump of trees a few rods 
away. But the minute I raised my head or 
moved a finger he was right back on the job 
again. 


222 


THE FOREST PILOT 


“ Then I knew that my time had come. It 
wasn’t such a terribly cold night, you know, 
but I lay out there in the open with nothing 
over me, and I was mighty weak from the 
blood I’d lost. And I knew that I was slowly 
freezing to death. I thought of a dozen things 
to try, but all of them were hopeless. There 
was no use in sliding off and grabbing the rifle 
for by the time I could get the broken car- 
tridge out the moose would have killed me sev- 
eral times over. If it hadn’t been for the leg 
I’d have come down and fought it out with the 
old brute with my hunting knife. I have done 
that before with a wounded bull. But I was 
so weak that I could hardly raise my body, let 
alone my leg. So I just settled down to freeze. 

“ But you see I’m a tough old rooster, and 
when the sun came up this morning I was still 
there, with my moose taking good care that I 
should stay there. By that time, though, I 
didn’t care much whether he stayed or not. It 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 223 

didn’t make any difiference. For I couldn’t 
have crawled fifty yards if I’d had the chance 
I was so stiff and weak. 

After a while I dozed off ; and the next 
thing I remember I heard the bull fighting 
with some wolves. I thought they were wolves 
then, but I didn’t even open my eyes to see, 
although I hoped they’d kill him. And 
then something sounded familiar about those 
wolves’ voices, and I turned my head. And 
there was old Jack and Kim trying to even up 
my score with the old critter. 

My God ! boy, I never knew what is was 
to be glad about anything in my life before! 
There you were coming with the little gun, 
and there was Jack on one side and Kim on 
the other taking out hunks from the old 
moose’s side at every jump, and — ” 

The old man stopped, and brushed his arm 
across his eyes, unable to go on for a minute, 
while Larry sat blinking hard at the fire. But 


224 


THE FOREST PILOT 


presently the hunter regained his composure 
a little, and continued : 

“ And then when you fired and shot that old 
devil right between the eyes, I was willing to 
die for sheer joy.” 

The old man paused again and tried to force 
a little laugh. 

And to think that you had to come and kill 
him with the little gun, while the best that I 
could do was to make him mad.” 

' And he patted the boy’s shaggy head affec- 
tionately. 

“ But you see, Martin, I’ve been having 
more practice lately than you have,” the boy 
said, springing up. “Wait till I show you 
something.” 

He darted out of the tent and came strug- 
glin back hauling the big white wolf and 
dropped it before the fire, and then brought 
the other three and laid them in a row for 
Martin’s inspection. His eyes were shining 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 225 

with pride and the old hunter’s face beamed 
with genuine admiration. 

Just four cartridges — one for each wolf,” 
Larry said proudly, and a little tap with a 
club thrown in for good measure.” And then 
he told the old man the story of the wolves, 
and exhibited the rip in his coat sleeves. 

Several times during the recital Larry 
noticed that Martin’s face twitched with the 
agonizing pain he was suffering, although the 
old man tried hard to conceal it, protesting 
that it was a thing too slight to be worth 
noticing. 

It isn’t the pain so much,” the old man 
said, at last. I can stand that all right. But 
I could stand it just a thousand times better if 
I had my old pipe and one pinch of tobacco. 
Boy, I’d give one long year of my life if I 
could have five minutes’ smoke. I’d get up 
and fight a moose, or a grizzly, or both, right 
now for a dozen whiffs of the old pipe.” 


226 


THE FOREST PILOT 


With a little laugh Larry jumped up, ran 
to their pile of plunder, and fumbled in his 
ditty bag. Then he turned and held up a pipe 
and a plug of tobacco for Martin to see. 

Will this new pipe do? ” he asked, laugh- 
ing, as he handed Martin the precious arti- 
cles. 

The old man’s eyes were round with aston- 
ishment, and his hands trembled with eager- 
ness. They trembled so that he could hardly 
pare off the shavings of the plug and load the 
pipe, and light it with the brand that Larry 
handed him from the fire. But a few whiffs 
steadied him. 

^‘You see,” Larry explained, “when you 
told me to put something or other into my 
ditty bag for luck, I couldn’t think of any- 
thing that would be luckier than a pipe and 
some tobacco for you — just to buy you off 
some time when you got cranky, you know. 
So here’s your bribe to keep you good natured 


THE WOUNDED MOOSE 227 

about my running off and leaving the camp 
when you told me not to.” 

Well, this makes twice to-day that you’ve 
saved my life,” the old man grinned, “ so I’ll 
forgive you. And now pile some wood near 
me so that I can keep the fire going, and then 
you crawl into bed and get some sleep. I 
don’t suppose this moose leg of mine would let 
me sleep anyhow, but even if it did I wouldn’t 
waste my time doing it when there was a pipe 
and some tobacco around. I am almost glad 
now that the old beast gouged me.” 



CHAPTER XI 

JHE RETURN TO THE WRECK 


229 











CHAPTER XI 

THE RETURN TO THE WRECK 

Martin was in fine spirits when Larry fi- 
nally crawled out of his sleeping bag and set 
about getting breakfast next morning. The in- 
jured leg was stiff and useless, to be sure, but 
the acute pain had subsided and did not bother 
the old man except when he attempted to 
move. “ By to-morrow,” he assured the boy, 
ril be ready to hit the trail again.” 

Larry, with a perplexed look, turned from 
his work of frying moose meat to see if Mar- 
tin was in earnest. 

I guess your tobacco has gone to your head, 
Martin, if you expect to be able to use that leg 
much by to-morrow,” he said indulgently. 

I don*t expect to be able to use it much by 
231 


THE FOREST PILOT 


232 

to-morrow,” Martin replied simply, “ but 
we’ll be moving all the same.” 

Larry set the frying pan down beside the 
fire, and came in and stood before the old man 
with his arms akimbo, scanning the old fel- 
low’s immobile face. For a moment or two 
they faced each other, neither of them speak- 
ing and both looking very serious. Larry was 
puzzled but determined. 

Now see here, Martin,” he began, “ you 
don’t really suppose that you are going to be 
able to travel to-morrow, do you? ” 

I certainly do,” the old man replied with- 
out relaxing a muscle; and what’s more to 
the point, I’m going to! ” 

But Martin,” Larry protested, how do 
you expect that your leg which is so sore you 
can’t even move it to-day, will be so you can 
walk on it to-morrow? ” 

I don’t,” Martin replied. 

Then how do you suppose you are going 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 233 

to stumble on through these woods mile after 
mile,” Larry persisted. 

Who said anything about stumbling 
through these woods, or any other woods?” 
the old hunter asked, with a twinkle in his eye. 

You shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Larry.” 
'And he chuckled at the boy’s discomfiture. 

Larry gave a defiant toss of his head and 
returned to his frying pan. Kim and Jack 
and I are going to eat our breakfast now,” he 
announced with a grin. “ Perhaps you can 
beg some breakfast too when you are ready 
to tell me what you are driving at.” 

All right,” Martin capitulated; I’m too 
hungry to be stubborn. Bring on the break- 
fast and we’ll talk while we eat. I’ve been 
thinking this thing all out during the night, 
and here it is : 

We’re going to travel to-morrow, but I in- 
tend to ride. I am going to have you pack me 
on the sled with a few days’ stock of food, and 


234 


THE FOREST PILOT 


get Kim and Jack to haul me. You can come 
along as escort, if you care to. In fact if you 
don’t care to I shan’t go, and we’ll spend the 
winter here and starve, instead of going back 
to the yacht to get fat.” 

At this announcement Larry gave a shout 
that brought the dogs to their feet in surprise. 
The idea of returning to their comfortable 
quarters on the coast instead of struggling on 
through the wilderness seemed a vision of per- 
fect happiness to the boy. 

Martin outlined his plan completely while 
they ate their breakfast. They would take the 
two sleeping bags, the tent, and a supply of 
food, harness the two dogs to one of the sleds 
and “ hit the back trail for ‘ home,’ ” as he 
called the wreck. He would sit on the tobog- 
gan in one of the sleeping bags and direct the 
dogs while Larry would trudge behind help- 
ing to steady the sled and prevent it overturn- 
ing in the rough places. In this way they 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 235 

could make the return trip in four days easily 
unless a storm came up. If a storm came they 
would simply “ hole up ” and wait until it 
blew over. When the wounded leg had 
healed, as it would very shortly in their com- 
fortable camp, they would make another start 
for civilization. 

It took Larry the greater part of th^ day to 
make the necessary preparations for this trip. 
Under Martin’s direction he rigged one of the 
toboggans with handles at the back, so ar- 
ranged that he could use them for steadying 
the sled or helping the dogs in the hard places 
as he walked behind. He also made a back- 
piece of twisted branches for Martin to lean 
against as he sat on the sled, strengthening this 
rough framework with cord and strips of can- 
vas. When finished Martin declared that it 
looked like a movable brush heap; but he ad- 
mitted that it was strong and serviceable, and 
made a comfortable support for his back. 


236 THE FOREST PILOT 

The second toboggan and the extra provis- 
ions were suspended from limbs high above 
the ground where they would be out of the 
reach of animal prowlers, and available for 
future use should they ever need them. 

They broke camp the next day before dawn 
and headed the dogs out into the open ex- 
panse of glistening crust. There was no need 
to direct their course, nor stimulate them to 
top speed. A trained sledge dog remembers 
directions better than a man, and is as keen 
for the return trip toward home as his human 
companions. Indeed Jack and Kim showed 
such enthusiasm and found that their load ran 
so easily on the hard crust that Larry had dif- 
ficulty in keeping up with them at times except 
by clinging to the handles. Crossing the plain, 
which consumed so much time on the outward 
trip, required only three hours for the return ; 
and even in the woods that lay beyond their 
progress was almost twice as fast as before. 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 237 

Despite Larry’s efforts, however, the sled 
received severe bumps at times, that made 
Martin groan with pain. But the old hunter 
would not allow any stops or slackening of 
speed for so trivial a matter as his personal dis- 
comfort. His dominant idea was to get back 
home ” as quickly as possible, and his atti- 
tude spurred Larry on to exert himself to the 
limit of endurance. By sundown they had 
covered a quarter of the distance to the coast; 
and in the afternoon of the fourth day they 
came tearing into the home camp, the dogs 
barking frantically and Martin and Larry 
shouting their delight. 

Here they found everything practically as 
they had left it, so that they had only to open 
the tent flaps, light a fire in front, and sit down 
to rest and enjoy themselves. 

But it was ao part of Martin’s plan to let 
Larry sit idle during the long weeks that lay 
ahead of them, or to remain inactive himself 


238 THE FOREST PILOT 

one hour longer than his injured leg compelled 
him to. He knew that idleness and lack of 
diveYsions were bad things for the boy, who 
would very soon feel the strain of their solitary 
surroundings if not kept so fully occupied that 
the time would pass quickly. He could ofifer 
few diversions, but he had planned plenty of 
active work. 

His first move next day, therefore, was to 
have Larry haul him to a point where he could 
inspect the wreck. He found it frozen in 
where they had left it, and wedged into a huge 
mass of ice that would hold it fast until the 
warm spring weather. So he transferred their 
living quarters temporarily to the after cabin, 
which Larry made snug with a little tinker- 
ing. Here, warmed by the galley stove, he 
could give his wound more effective treat- 
ment than in the open tent. Meanwhile he set 
Larry to work building ^ hut made from the 
wood of the forward cabin. 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 239 

The task of tearing this cabin to pieces was 
even greater than that of actually putting it 
together again, but Larry set about it with saw, 
axe, and crow-bar. At first he worked alone ; 
but after a few days Martin was able to crawl 
up on deck and superintend things from his 
seat in a sleeping-bag, while the dogs acted as 
interested spectators. The days were very 
short now in this far northern latitude, and 
every hour of daylight was devoted to the 
wrecking work, leaving the “ housekeeping ” 
work to be done by lamplight. In this way 
the boy was kept so completely occupied, do- 
ing and accomplishing, that there was little 
time left to dwell upon the loneliness of their 
situation. So that, on the whole, the time 
passed quickly and pleasantly. This was what 
Martin had hoped to accomplish. 

By the time the house-building material 
was secured, the old hunter could hobble about 
on extemporized crutches and give directions 


240 


THE FOREST PILOT 


about building the hut, and sometimes assist 
Larry in steadying the boards that held tHe 
frame in place. And when their new home 
had reached a stage that called for finishing 
touches he was able to handle hammer and saw 
in performing some of the lighter work. 

The hut was a curious little creation, with 
round port holes for windows and a ship’s 
cabin door, which gave it the appearance of 
having been cast up from the sea. It was made 
of the tight fitting boards, and rendered doubly 
wind proof by two thicknesses of canvas 
stretched over every part of it and nailed se- 
curely. Inside it was made attractive with all 
manner of ornaments taken from the yacht. 
There were two comfortable bunks arranged 
cabin-fashion one above the other at one end, a 
table and chairs, a case of books, and the little 
stove from the galley that kept the room 
warm even in the coldest weather. With its 
complete equipment, even to spring cots and 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 241 

mattresses, Martin declared it the finest winter 
home ever owned by shipwrecked hunters. 

By Christmas day is was completed even to 
the smallest detail, and on that day they moved 
in and formally took possession, deserting the 
yacht forever. This day was made one of 
special merriment and rejoicing, for Martin 
was able to dispense with his cane or crutches 
for the first time, and use his leg in a natural 
manner without assistance. It was still weak, 
but strengthening so rapidly that it promised 
soon to be completely restored to power. So, 
to celebrate this combination of happy events, 
they brought all manner of delicacies from the 
pile of stores, and devoted the first part of the 
day to preparing for a grand feast. 

In the afternoon they harnessed the dogs 
tandem to the toboggan, Martin took his place 
in the “ movable brush heap,” and all went for 
a joy ride ” of several miles through the 
woods in a great circle that brought them back 


THE FOREST PILOT 


242 

to the cabin about sundown. In several places 
on this journey they crossed caribou tracks, the 
sight of which made Martin’s eyes sparkle, 
and he predicted great hunting trips before 
the winter was much older. 

In the evening they had their grand dinner 
which the dogs attended, all hands doing full 
justice to every course. After the feast Mar- 
tin and Larry played cards until far past their 
usual bedtime. Taken all in all Christmas 
day proved a very cheerful one in the great 
wilderness. 

The old man had cherished the hope that his 
leg would heal and gain strength so rapidly 
that they could make another attempt to reach 
the settlements before the winter was over. 
For he knew that if they did not do so they 
must wait until the unsettled weather of spring 
was over, and the ground dry enough for 
reasonably easy traveling. At that season they 
would encounter the terrible wood flies and in- 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 243 

sects, far more to be dreaded in certain regions 
than cold and snow. But it would be madness 
to attempt to make the winter journey until 
his strength had returned fully, and he soon 
realized that this would not be until well on 
toward spring. Very soon he was able to take 
fairly long snow-shoe tramps, assisted by the 
dogs and the toboggan, but hauling a heavy 
sled was quite out of the question. So he 
finally resigned himself to spending the winter 
at the cabin. 

Larry had shown such aptitude in learning 
the many secrets of woodcraft that he de- 
termined to make a land pilot,” as he called 
it facetiously, of him during their exile. As 
the boy had become proficient in the use of the 
rifle, Martin devoted part of the time to in- 
structions in the art of trapping. They were 
in the land of the silver fox, — the most highly 
prized skin of all the fur-bearers — and so they 
concentrated their efforts to catch some of 


244 


THE FOREST PILOT 


these wary animals. Meanwhile they made 
constantly lengthening hunting excursions 
after caribou, Larry occupying the position of 
chief hunter with the old man playing assis- 
tant. But on these hunting trips the little gun 
that Larry had carried at first was left hang- 
ing on its peg in the hut. In its place Larry 
now carried a repeater similar to Martin’s — 
a heavy weapon, that gave the boy many an 
arm ache. 

Game was not very plentiful, however, and 
it required constant efforts to keep their larder 
supplied with fresh meat But this scarcity of 
game gave the old hunter more opportunities 
for teaching the boy all manner of woodland 
tricks to secure it Meanwhile he imparted to 
his pupil the most important and difficult fea- 
ture of woodcraft — the art of being at home ” 
in the woods — to know directions instinctively, 
to observe and interpret every sign, and to take 
care of himself under all conditions. 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 245 

Several times, when the injured leg was 
stronger and his pupil moi;e advance^ Martin 
made practical tests of the boy’s progress. He 
would select a day when snow was falling, 
harness the dogs to the toboggan loaded with 
tent, sleeping-bags, and provisions, and make 
a zigzag journey into the heart of the woods. 
Here they would pitch camp and wait until 
the storm ceased. By that time their trail 
would be completely obliterated. Then, with- 
out any guiding suggestions, he had Larry take 
the lead and pilot them back to the cabin. 

!At first the boy would become confused, and 
be obliged to call upon the old hunter to 
straighten him out; and sometimes Martin al- 
lowed him to become completely at fault be- 
fore he would aid him. But little by little 
Larry learned to observe and remember in- 
stinctively, until presently Martin found it im- 
possible to confuse him even on long trips. 

He learned how to interpret the signs of 


246 THE FOREST PILOT 


game, also, how to approach it successfully, 
and where to expect to find the wood denizens 
under the ever varying conditions. And when 
they were successful with gun or traps, Martin 
taught him how to skin and dress the game, 
and to care for the pelts. 

We’ll have to leave all these good furs be- 
hind us, I know,” the old man would say ; “ but 
we won’t waste them ; and perhaps some other 
fellow will come along some day and find 
them. There’s just one pelt that we won’t 
leave, if we get it. That’s the silver fox.” 

But this silver fox is a wily fellow. He seems 
to realize the value of his coat; or at least he 
knows that it is very valuable to himself, and 
uses his cunning to retain it. Week after week 
Martin used his knowledge and Larry’s in- 
creasing skill to trap one of these fine fellows, 
only to be disappointed on each occasion. 
They would find where Reynard had hovered 
about their trap, sometimes actually stepping 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 247 

over it to steal the bait, knowing in some occult 
manner just where the fatal jaws were con- 
cealed. It was in vain that Martin coated the 
trap with wax to disguise the scent, covering 
his hands and feet with the skins of the wild 
animals in setting or approaching the trap. 
Reynard refused to be deceived. 

But perhaps success made him careless, al- 
though it was probably the fault of the thin 
covering of wet snow that fell one day late in 
the spring. For at last, after Larry had almost* 
given up hope of getting even a single silver 
fox skin, the inevitable happened. Poor 
Reynard walked deliberately into a trap that 
had been set rather carelessly to catch a 
martin. 

When Larry discovered this long sought 
prize held securely by one foot in the jaws of 
the trap, he gave a shout of delight at his unex- 
pected success. The little animal had evi- 
dently been caught several hours before, and 


248 THE FOREST PILOT 

from the appearance of the ground about the 
trap had struggled fiercely to free itself. But 
now it seemed resigned to its fate, and stood 
crouching, watching Larry’s approach with- 
out making any further effort to escape. 
Even when the boy raised a heavy stick to 
despatch the captive, the little animal made 
no attempt to evade the blow, acting more 
like a dog resigned to take punishment from 
its master than a denizen of the wilderness 
accustomed to battle for its existence. But its 
wide, intelligent eyes, seemed to beg mutely 
for mercy. 

The actions of the little animal completely 
unnerved the boy: he could not strike the 
crouching figure. If the fox had struggled 
fiercely, or attempted to fight for its life as a 
mink or martin always did, Larry could have 
despatched it at once; but that submissive at- 
titude completely disarmed him. He could 
not resist the mute appeal in those eyes. 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 249 

He lowered the club and turned away, 
ashamed of his weakness. But when he 
turned again, determined to overcome his 
scruples, the eyes met his with their mute 
plea, and again he lowered the club. 

What would Martin think of such girlish- 
ness? he asked himself. Would Martin, or 
any good hunter, hesitate to snatch the prize 
that he had been struggling for all winter? 
He was sure they would not, and he despised 
himself for his weak-heartedness. 

The longer he hesitated the surer he felt 
that he could not strike. Then the thought 
obtruded itself: Who would ever know if 
he did not strike? Who would there be to 
judge him but his own conscience if he were 
to set the little animal free instead of kill- 
ing it? The moment these thoughts passed 
through his mind he knew that the fox had 
won its freedom. He should have struck at 
once : now it was too late. 


250 THE FOREST PILOT 

But freeing the captive foot from the jaws 
of the trap without encountering the animal’s 
sharp, white teeth was no easy task; for he 
could not expect the fox to interpret his 
humane action correctly, and stand mutely 
while he forced down the trap spring. So it 
was not until after several fruitless attempts 
that he succeeded in placing a heavy limb 
across the spring, and by bending it down, 
allowed the jaws to fall open and release the 
foot 

During this manipulation the fox made no 
attempt to struggle, simply crouching down 
and watching the boy with its haunting eyes. 
'And even when the jaws of the trap relaxed 
it did not bound away as Larry had expected, 
but slipped out of sight stealthily and with 
no apparent haste, not yet fully assured of its 
unexpected good fortune. 

The boy watched the animal disappear with 
mingled emotions of shame and satisfaction. 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 251; 

But when it was out of sight he drew a long 
breath, and went back to camp in a sober 
mood. 

That night at supper Martin was unusu- 
ally talkative. In about a week, he said, they 
should start for home if the fine weather con- 
tinued, and the thought of it put him in a 
happy frame of mind. But Larry ate his sup- 
per in silence, trying to excuse himself for his 
deception, and his “ chicken-heartedness ” in 
freeing the fox. 

Martin, who was watching him out of 
the corners of his eyes, suddenly surprised 
him by stopping in the middle of a story to 
ask: 

Larry, what happened out in the woods 
to-day that you are so ashamed of? ” 

The boy replied evasively at first, but the 
old hunter shook his head incredulously. 

See here, Martin,’’ Larry said at last, 
what would you do if you happened to come 


THE FOREST PILOT 


252 

along to a martin trap and found a silver fox 
there — not a dead fox, you know, and not one 
that snarled and snapped and tried to bite 
you. But a fox that had fought to get loose 
until he couldn’t fight any more, but just stood 
there and looked you straight in the eye even 
when you raised a club to kill him, and seemed 
to say to you : 

‘ That’s right, talte your club and kill me, 
I can’t get out of your way now. I’m only a 
poor little fox, anyway, while you are a big, 
brave boy, with guns and dogs and traps, and 
you needn’t even come near enough so that I 
can bite you. You have been trying to kill 
me all winter, just because some woman will 
give you a thousand dollars for the fur I wear 
to keep warm in, and now you’ve got your 
chance to do it.’ — What would you do, Mar- 
tin, if a fox looked at you and talked to you 
with his eyes like that? ” 

“ What would I do, Larry? ” the old man 


RETURN TO THE WRECK 253 

repeated, looking at the roof and puffing 
slowly at his pipe. “ Why, I’d say, ^ Martin, 
here’s your chance to make a thousand dollars 
mighty easy. I’ll just hit him a rap on the 
head, and take him home and skin him.’ 
That’s what I’d say, Larry. But what I’d do 
when I. saw the little fellow’s big brown eyes 
asking me to let him go home to his family — • 
what I’d do, probably, would be to look all 
around to make sure that no one was looking 
to see what a coward I am in my heart, and 
then I’d spring the trap and turn the little 
rascal loose.” 

With a bound Larry was out of his chair. 

“ That’s just what I did this afternoon, Mar- 
tin,” he shouted, dancing joyfully about the 
room to relieve his pent-up feelings. 

And so you sat here all the evening calling 
yourself a coward,” said Martin, when Larry 
had subsided, just because you couldn’t bear 
to kill a fox in a trap. How about killing 


THE FOREST PILOT 


254 

wolves, Larry, and moose that are trying to 
kill you? Cowards don’t act that way, boy. 
And the bravest men usually have the softest 
spots in their hearts.” 


CHAPTER XII 

THE EARLY MORNING VISITOR 


255 











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CHAPTER XII 


THE EARLY MORNING VISITOR 

Martin and Larry were roused the next 
morning at daylight by the dogs who were 
barking excitedly in their shed outside. Evi- 
dently some animal was approaching the hut 
too close for their approval. So Larry, hoping 
for a pot shot from the window, slipped out of 
bed, took down his rifle stealthily, and cauti- 
ously opened irfie port on the landward side. 
Just then he heard voices outside, and the 
next moment some one pounded sharply 
against the door and turned the latch. In the 
doorway stood Mr. Ware, with half a dozen 
sailors crowding behind him. 

With a shout Martin was out of his bunk, 
while Larry, dropping his gun, collided with 
the old hunter as they rushed together into 

257 


258 THE FOREST PILOT 

Mr. Ware’s outstretched arms, and for five 
minutes the three were locked together in a 
tangled embrace dancing about like happy 
children, each asking questions which no one 
answered. Then Larry discovered that one of 
the sailors was an old acquaintance from the 
crew of the yacht, and the sailor came in for 
a similar wild demonstration, while Mr. Ware 
stood laughing and gasping for breath. And 
all this time the dogs, recognizing that some- 
thing quite out of the ordinary was taking 
place inside, were adding their voices to the 
din, and struggling madly to get out of their 
shed. 

Finally Martin disengaged himself and 
sank into a chair overcome with exhaustion 
and emotion. For the coming of Mr. Ware 
was like one risen from the dead. And then 
followed a flood of questions and explana- 
tions. 

Mr, Ware and his companions in the boat 


EARLY MORNING VISITOR 259 

had escaped quite as miraculously as had 
Martin and Larry, although they had suf- 
fered far greater hardships in the storm. 
They had left the shore in their boat and were 
making an exploratory trip along the mouth 
of the inlets of the bay just before the storm 
broke that destroyed the yacht The fury of 
the gale drove them helplessly along the 
coast, and pitched them about, breaking 
their oars and tearing loose their rudder, so 
that they were completely disabled. For- 
tunately they had rounded the point of land 
that marked the entrance to the bay, so that 
instead of being blown against the rocks they 
were driven along parallel to the coast-line 
for a time, and thus saved from the break- 
ers. 

But they were hurried from this peril into 
another quite as great, as the boat was in 
danger of swamping at any moment in the 
waves, For now the wind shifted and blew 


26 o 


THE FOREST PILOT 


them steadily out to sea, as they were without 
means of controlling or steadying the boat, 
which filled with water continually, and was 
only kept afloat by ceaseless bailing with the 
pots and pans of their cooking outfit. 

All that night they worked, buflfeted by the 
gale, with no idea where they might be drift- 
ing. But when morning came and the gale 
subsided there was no land in sight That 
made little difference to them, as without 
oars or sails they could not have reached it in 
any event Fortunately the boat was supplied 
with a box of sea biscuit and a keg of water — 
a precaution against emergencies always 
taken by Mr. Ware in manning his boats. So 
that while they were almost frozen, they were 
not hungry or thirsty during the six days and 
nights of their aimless drifting. But their 
days seemed numbered, as they had little hope 
of being picked up so late in the season. 

Imagine their delight, therefore, when on 


EARLY MORNING VISITOR 2611 

the seventh morning they discovered a three 
master heading almost directly for them. The 
captain of the vessel had seen them, and 
changed his course to pick them up. 

As soon as he was safely on board Mr. Ware 
made tempting offers to the captain to turn 
about and attempt to find the yacht. But his 
efforts were unsuccessful. The schooner was 
far out of her course and must make the best 
time possible to her English port, and no offer 
could tempt the captain to turn back. More- 
over, as he pointed out, it would do little good 
to return if the yacht was lost; whereas if she 
were safe, she would make her way back to 
New York and would be waiting for Mr. 
Ware on his return. 

So he was forced to curb his impatience for 
three long weeks while the schooner floun- 
dered her way across the ocean, and two weeks 
more before he reached his home. By that 
time winter had set in and it would be mad- 


262 THE FOREST PILOT 

ness to attempt to approach the frozen Labra- 
dor coast at that time, even if he had hoped 
to find any of his party alive. 

But he laid his plans for an early start in 
the spring, and the moment he could do so 
with reasonable safety he secured a staunch 
little steamer and started on his search. They 
had arrived near the entrance of the little bay 
the night before, but it grew dark before they 
rounded the point where they could make ob- 
servations. Shortly after this the man in the 
lookout reported what he believed to be a 
light up among the rocks on shore. It was 
so faint that it could barely be made out 
through the glasses; and presently it disap- 
peared. 

This discovery kept Mr. Ware awake all 
night; and as soon as it was near daylight, he 
had come off in a life-boat to investigate, leav- 
ing the steamer to follow cautiously by day- 
light. Imagine his delight, then, at finding 


EARLY MORNING VISITOR 263 

the snug litle hut, with Martin and Larry safe 
inside. 

When Mr. Ware had finished his recital 
Martin told him in detail the experiences that 
he and Larry had had during the winter; of 
their start for home, the blizzard, his encoun- 
ter with the moose, and their final return to 
the coast and the comfortable time spent in the 
little hut. 

“ And you got here just in the nick of time, 
Mr. Ware,” he commented. ‘‘ In another 
week we should have been footing it cross- 
country for home ; and no knowing where we 
should have landed.” 

While they had been talking the little 
steamer had come into the bay and dropped 
anchor half a mile off shore ready to receive 
her passengers. The captain, anxious to be 
away from the dangerous locality as quickly as 
possible, kept signalling repeatedly with short 
blasts of the whistle, and at last Mr. Ware de* 


264 THE FOREST PILOT 

cided that it was time for all hands to be off. 
But the snug little hut, tucked away up 
under the rock among the spruces, appealed 
strongly to his fancy; and Martin and Larry 
actually seemed reluctant to leave it now that 
their long-looked-for chance to do so had 
come. They had spent many happy hours in 
their tight little room, and it seemed like 
treachery to an old friend to turn their backs 
upon it forever. The old hunter said nothing 
of his thoughts on this score, however, and set 
about gathering together the articles he was to 
take away. But Larry, with a lump rising in 
his throat, found it difficult to repress his feel- 
ings. 

I wish it could go with us,” he said, 
stopping in his work to take a wistful look 
at the many familiar objects they were leaving. 

It will be pretty lonesome for the little 
house standing up here all alone year after 
year and never seeing any of us again.” And 


EARLY MORNING VISITOR 265 

the boy leaned over his work again to hide his 
emotions. 

“We’re not going to desert it for good, 
Larry,” said Mr. Ware, patting the boy on 
the head kindly. “ This is the best little shoot- 
ing lodge I know of. So every year we will 
come up here for a hunt, and Martin will take 
us to the best hunting places, and keep us 
out of mischief generally, as he always does. 
What do you say, Martin?” 

But the old hunter shook his head. 

“ I’ll be mighty glad to come every year, 
Mr. Ware,” he said laughing; “but I leave 
the hunting and guiding to a younger fellow 
who can do it just as well, or better. That’s 
the ^ younger fellow ’ I mean, right here,” and 
he pointed to Larry. “ He knows the country 
as well as I do, and he can follow a trail, shoot 
a rifle, and run a camp with the best of them. 
And if you ever get into a tight place out there 
in the woods, he’ll steer you out of it safely 


266 


THE FOREST PILOT 


every time. For he’s learned his trade up here 
this winter. He’s a regular forest pilot now — 
a real woodsman, sure enough.” 


THE END. 










LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




